Going Home Again
by printandpolish
Summary: Darry needs his siblings more than ever but is he still too proud to ask for help? Curtis sister included STORY COMPLETE 102405.
1. Calls in the Night

This story has been in my head since the 1970s, when I first read "The Outsiders." Who knew I'd ever have the change to actually write it? In my AU, the boys have a sister, Cinnamon, between Pony and Soda. I've taken some liberities with the time line -- the story takes place about 20 years after the end of the book, but in present day. I'd appreciate it if you'd call those missing years "poetic license." I don't own the Curtis boys or anyone you've heard of before. I hope y'all like it, as Pony might say.

**Chapter 1: Going home again**

He had begged his brother to keep his secret, and because over the last twenty years he had asked so little of his family, Sodapop agreed. He kept quiet. Laura knew, of course, but they had both covered for Darry. The gang, those that were left, had guessed, but no one discussed it, not the diagnosis or the treatments or the prognosis, which fluctuated like the Tulsa heat index.

But now? Now, there was relapse. Soda sat in the darkened living room. He had kept his promise: he hadn't called Ponyboy in Salt Lake or Cinnamon in Kansas City, and when they checked in, if Darry was sick from the chemo or sleeping, he and Laura made excuses. It broke Soda's heart to hear his little girl lying: ("Oh, hey, Uncle Pony, he's not here, he had a chance to work triple overtime or something") but he was also proud of her for respecting Darry's wishes.

But now, tonight, after the ambulance left, and father and daughter had scrubbed Darry's bedroom clean of the sick and the smell, Laura said quietly, "Daddy, you have to call them. What if he doesn't get better?"

The thought filled Sodapop Curtis with such dread that he picked up the phone, not waiting another moment, not even until morning.

* * *

Cinnamon Curtis Rockwell checked her patient a final time before tiptoeing out of the room. She was a good nurse, smart, patient and kind, and she was especially fond of the juvenile delinquents who made their way through the emergency room. Without saying a word, she could settle the wildest boy and calm him for treatment. "Years of practice," she said evasively, when asked about her special touch. 

She came behind the nurse's station, about to tell her coworker, Nancy, that she was heading down to the cafeteria for ten minutes, when Nancy gestured toward the door. Clinton Rockwell, Cinnamon's husband of 15 years, stood there, looking hastily put together but wide awake.

"Baby? What is it?" Cinnamon asked. "It's the middle of the night, where are the kids?"

"In the car. They're fine; I left it near Buddy." Buddy sat in the security booth in the hospital parking lot, midnight to six every night. "We … we gotta go, honey."

"Go where?"

"Tulsa."

"Tulsa?" Cinnamon's voice was a squeak. "It's the middle of the night," she repeated lamely.

"Soda called," Clint said. "You need to go home, and we're going to bring you. He said -- "

Cinnamon shook her head, holding up one had to stop her husband before he could elaborate. "I'm working until seven."

Clint looked at Nancy, who handed Cinnamon her jacket and purse.

"Come on, baby, it's OK," Clint said, helping her on with her jacket.

"Who?" she whispered. "Not Laura."

"No, honey. Darry. Darry's sick."

* * *

The phone was ringing. It was the middle of the night, and the phone was ringing. Michelle Curtis buried herself under the quilt, as the light went on, vaguely aware that her husband had answered and was talking softly to someone. Ponyboy was a writer for _Rolling Stone_ and prone to the occasional after-hours call, from editors and photographers and even, every now and again, from rock stars. 

"Soda?" she heard him say. "I can't get you. Calm down. Chronic what?"

Michelle sat up abruptly. Ponyboy had a reporter's notebook in his hand. They were scattered all over the house and he always kept one on his nightstand. "Spell it for me, Pepsi-Cola," he said gently, and Michelle knew by the use of Soda's nickname the conversation was very bad indeed.

Pony scribbled and tilted the notebook so she could read "chronic myeloid leukemia." She gasped, tears already prickling the back of her eyes. She looked at Pony, and he mouthed, "Darry."

By the time he got off the phone ten minutes later, Michelle had packed and was on line, booking them and their small son on the first available flight to Oklahoma.


	2. Back in Tulsa

**Chapter 2: Back in Tulsa**

It was almost 7:30 when Cinnamon pulled off the highway. Clint had asked several times if she wanted him to drive, but she was awake anyway, used to working the night shift, and in no danger of dozing off. So now, he snored softly in the passenger seat, while 8-year-old Johnny and 5-year-old Sarah slept buckled in the back seat.

Leukemia, Soda had told Clinton, some kind of leukemia. Soda was stumbling over the words, nearly gone to pieces when he heard Cinnamon was working. Clint said the conversation had lasted less than three minutes. It wasn't until Pony had called her cell phone, right before he and his family boarded a 4:30 a.m. flight, that she really knew it what it was.

"Chronic myeloid leukemia," Pony recited carefully. "I had enough time to look on WebMD and scare the shit out of myself. _Should_ I be scared?"

"He's got CML?" Cinnamon whimpered.

"Does chronic means it won't go away?" Pony persisted. "It'snot necessarily … I mean, it's blood cancer, so it's serious, sure, but he's not …"

And then neither of them could speak. They sat in silence, sniffling, until Pony's flight was called.

"Mommy?"

Cinnamon smiled in at her daughter in the rear-view mirror. "Good morning."

"Are we almost there?"

"Almost."

Their conversation woke Clinton, who rubbed his eyes. "Where are we?" he mumbled, staring out the window. "Isn't your brothers' house the next exit?"

"I wanted to go this way," Cinnamon said. She glided to a stop at a red light.

"Going straight to the hospital?" Clint asked.

Cinnamon didn't answer but turned right, toward the heart of the city. A block down, on her left, before the business district, was a rolling green cemetery. Clint reached out and rubbed his wife's shoulder. It was the cemetery where her parents were buried, and her childhood friends, Dallas Winston and Johnny Cade. He looked back at his own Johnny, still sound asleep. It had taken Cinnamon years to be ready to have children, she was so terrified of losing them.

The gas station was six blocks beyond. It wasn't a DX anymore, it was "S&S Gas and Repair" – S and S, for Sodapop Curtis and Steven Randle. They'd become partners a decade ago and Steve still picked Soda up for work every day. Soda didn't have a license – he'd gotten one a few times but let it lapse so many times it wasn't worth the bother. Cinnamon pulled into a space and stopped.

"Mommy?"

"Stay with Daddy, sugar, get out and stretch your legs," Cinnamon said. "I want to go say hello to Uncle Soda."

She stretched herself, stiff from five hours of driving, and crossed the parking lot. She could see Steve through the open garage door, bent over the engine of an old Ford. Cinnamon had never liked Steve but she had always tried to keep her mouth shut for Soda's sake, figuring that there must be something her happy-go-lucky, loving brother saw in him. The trouble was, even after knowing Steve practically her whole life, she still hadn'tfigured out what it was. She hadn't seen Steve in a long time. Even though she got back to Tulsa a couple of times a year, she managed to mostly avoid him.

Steve straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. "Cinnamon! You like to give me a heart attack! What you all doing here?"

"Hi, Steve," she said. "Where's Sodapop?"

"Cinny."

She turned and flew into Soda's outstretched arms, both of them fighting tears. Soda held her close. He'd been a tightly-wound spring for five months and he hadn't realized how hard it had been until he saw his little sister.

"Since when?" she whispered into his chest.

"March 12," he said softly. The date was embedded in his mind, just like the date of their parents' death and the day that took Johnny and Dally away.

She pulled away and looked at him, horrified. "March 12? _March?_ Five _months_? Why didn't you call?"

"He told me not to," Soda said simply, and Cinnamon, as stunned and heartbroken as she was, understood. If Darry had asked Soda to jump from a cliff, he would have stepped off the edge without hesitation. "But it's – it's not up to him no more, Cinnamon."

"Where is he?" she asked abruptly. "University Hospital or Saint Francis?"

"He's at Saint Frank's, but Cinnamon, not now. Go on home. Ponyboy and Michelle should be there in a couple of hours and I'll meet you back at the house and explain what happened. Then we can go."

"I'm going now," she said stubbornly.

"He don't know you're here, Cinny," Soda said, just as stubbornly. "And you ain't going over there until I've talked to you both and had time to talk to Darry. And that's all."

"Then come home with me now," she said.

"We promised Mrs. Matthews we'd get her car done," Soda said. "I'll be along."

"What's the matter with you? Work's not more important than this. Come _now." _

"Glory, Cinnamon," Soda said, both affectionate and exasperated, "I can only tell this once. And how can I sit there with you and _not _tell you? Go on. You've been driving all night. Let me kiss your kids and then go get some rest."

They walked back to the Rockwell's minivan, where Clinton and Sarah were sitting in the open door. Johnny had just woken up and was yawning, but when he saw his uncle his whole face lit up.

"Hey! Uncle Coca-Cola-Pepsi-Cola-Royal-Crown!" he hollered, sprinting the short distance between them. Soda caught him easily and swung him off the ground, as if he were a toddler and not really a tall-for-his-age third grader. He hugged and kissed his nephew then set him back on his feet, looking at Sarah, sitting shyly in her daddy's lap.

"Who's this grown up girl?" Soda asked. "This can't be Sarah Mary. She's too big."

Sarah rolled her eyes at him and allowed herself to be hugged.

"You're too young for that attitude," Clint scolded her, and stretched out an arm to his brother-in-law. "Hey."

"Hey." Soda hesitated a brief second, then turned the handshake into a hug. "Thank you."

"No problem," Clint said. He suddenly remembered his wedding – though Darry had been the one to actually escort Cinnamon to him, when the minister asked, "Who gives this woman to be married?" all three brothers had said, in unison, "We do." He was now part of that circle, both he and Pony's Michelle, and he sometimes forgot what a privilege that was. "Anything you need, Soda. Anything."

"Go on back to the house," Soda said to him, turning to the children. "Johnnycakes, Sarey, come on, buckle in. I think your cousin made some cake; go on over and see."

Cinnamon had to grin. Soda was almost 40 years old and still ate chocolate cake for breakfast most mornings.


	3. Diagnosis

**Chapter 3: Diagnosis**

"Darry was diagnosed in March, but it really started at the end of February," Soda began. They were in the small living room, Soda in the armchair, Michelle and Ponyboy on the couch, and Clint and Cinnamon cross-legged on the floor. The Curtises were not as poor as they had once been and while the carpet and paint and furniture was newer, the way the room was arranged remained the same. It brought the three siblings comfort.

Outside, they could hear their children laughing in the yard. Laura, who had just turned 16, was in charge of Johnny, Sarah, and Danny, Pony and Michelle's 3-year-old. Soda closed his eyes briefly. He could see his smaller self, wrestling with Pony and Darry, swinging on the swings with Cinnamon, and practicing cartwheels and handstands. Even after … after his parents, after Johnny and Dally, it had been all right. This was home, and the people he loved most, and Darry was at the center of all that.

"What happened in February?" Michelle asked quietly, bringing Soda back to the present.

"Muscle spasms. At least, that's what we thought." Soda looked at Pony and Cinnamon. "Y'all remember how he used to carry all those roofing bundles? And how I'd give him back rubs most every night? Too many years of doing that, his back was about ruined. He hasn't been doing that hard labor stuff for a long time, but even sitting in the same position too long makes him twitchy. So when his back started to ache, he thought that's what it was. Hell, he even went to one of those chiropractors. He took Advil and soaked in the tub and said he was fine."

Soda took a deep breath. "On March 12, he couldn't get out of bed. He couldn't move his legs. It was like he was paralyzed overnight. I was getting ready for work and he started hollering. I have never heard him like that. He sounded terrified. It was seriously the scariest thing I ever heard in my life."

Pony got up and crossed the room. He sat on the floor next to Soda's chair and took his brother's hand.

Soda squeezed gratefully. "We had to call an ambulance. Turns out he had this myo – myla –"

"Myeloid," Cinnamon said quietly. "Chronic myeloid leukemia. It's usually called CML."

"He had too many blood cells, the white ones, they were pressing against his spine," Soda said. "That's why he couldn't move. So he did chemo and radiation and he was getting better. The count was going lower, they said, which was a good thing -- but then, last night – something happened last night. He was throwing up blood and running a bad fever and we went back to Saint Frank's. It's back. It's worse."

"Have they talked to him about a bone marrow transplant?" Cinnamon asked. "We should get tested, you, me, Pony. Even the kids, if one of us doesn't match."

"I don't know," Soda said. "He won't say. Pony, you're killing my fingers."

Ponyboy's grip was no longer comforting, it was crushing and angry. "How could you keep this from us?" he demanded. "Five months – he's had a potentially fatal disease for five _months_ and you couldn't pick up the phone?"

"Darry didn't –"

"I ain't asking about Darry, I'm asking about you," Pony said hotly. "How could you lie to us like that? Cinnamon's a nurse, for Christ's sake, you didn't think she could be helpful?"

"I didn't–"

"You _did._ You said he was working, or in the shower, or out. And he was having chemo." Pony was so angry he was practically spitting.

"You weren't here!" Soda shouted back. "I was here, I've _been _here –"

"And look what happened," Pony interrupted.

The room was stunned into silence, then Soda jumped to his feet, dragging Pony up with him by his collar. It had always taken a lot to rattle Soda, but the stress of the last several months, followed by the implied accusation, was simply too much. He shook his brother fiercely, as if they were youngsters again, not men in their 30s.

"You want to shut your mouth, Ponyboy Michael Curtis, before I want to shut it for you," Soda said evenly, through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You've been in freakin' _Utah._ I didn't call because he asked me not to. Maybe you'd have done the same, and maybe not. But don't you stand here and tell me I had something to do with this, just because you're pissed, or I'll knock you into next Tuesday."

Pony wrenched away from Soda and put his hands against Soda's chest. Soda braced for the shove, angry and spooked enough to actually fight back, but instead Pony crumpled and Soda had to catch him before he hit the floor. The years melted away and suddenly Pony looked 14 again, miserably bewildered, not knowing what to do when his mouth and his emotions got ahead of his brain.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I can't … I didn't –"

Pony's tears evaporated Soda's anger immediately.

"I know," Soda said, holding him close. "Sh, Pony, I know. I don't want to lose him either." He rocked his brother and Cinnamon came and put her arms around them both, with Clint behind her and Michelle rubbing her husband's back. The women were crying along with Pony; even Clinton had tears in his eyes.

"Get this out of you now, all of you," Soda said. "Y'all can't be doing this in front of Darry. You'll freak him out, and he'll be freaked enough when he finds out I've told you."

Cinnamon took a deep, shuddering breath. "Darry gave up everything for us," she said. "You know what I was doing when I was 20? I was in school, going out weekends, drinking too much and meeting the wrong boys. Darry was working two jobs, trying to pay all the bills and trying to make sure we three didn't end up dead or worse and that Pony and I graduated high school."

High school. Cinnamon had worked hard, especially after Johnny and Dally died, and studied her way to a scholarship, but when it came time to graduate, she wanted to do it quietly. The other girls were buying new dresses and talking about parties and dances. Cinnamon was loathe to be up on stage in Soda's hand-me-down jeans and since a new dress was out of the question, she just refused to walk. "They'll mail me my diploma," she'd said to Darry. "I'm all set for nursing school, it's not like I can't get into college if I don't go across the stage."

But Darry wouldn't hear of it and the week before graduation, Cinnamon walked into her bedroom to find a pink taffeta dress hung carefully from the closet door jamb. As her brothers watched, grinning like idiots, she looked at it, shocked – it had a wide, poofy skirt, there was pink lace on the sleeves and the hem was crooked. It was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen, and she wore it proudly to graduation.

Now she looked intently at Soda and Pony. "Do y'all remember my graduation dress?"

Pony looked blank, but Soda said immediately, "Sure. It was pink. We found it at the Salvation Army and Two-Bit's mom cleaned it up for us. We had no idea how awful it was."

"It was horrible," Cinnamon agreed. "And I still have it. It's in the attic. That dress … Darry tried so hard to be there for me, and to do right by me, by all of us … so now, we have to stand by him."

"We owe him," Ponyboy said, but it was not like the owing of a bad debt. It was an honorable repayment, something you did not onlybecauseit wasthe right thing to do, but also because you wanted to.

"Yes," Soda said.

"OK. So, Chel, how's about you and me go grocery shopping and get these kiddos fed and organized?" Clinton said. "I'll make a pot of chili. That'll reheat easy, when these guys get back."

"Y'all can come," Soda said. "Y'all are family too."

But Michelle shook her head. "Not yet. Tomorrow. You guys should go." She wrapped Pony in a hug. "I love you very much and I am praying Darry will be fine. And if you're making appointments for people to be tested to donate bone marrow, make one for me, too."

"Me, three," Clint said. "And Johnny and Sarah, if you think that will help."

"And Danny," Michelle said.

Soda smiled. For a split second, he was jealous – jealous that Pony and Cinnamon had chosen so well, jealous that Laura's mother, Emily, had not bothered to stick around, jealous that his parents had not lived to see how well they'd all turned out.

He smiled gratefully at his in-laws. "OK, then," he said, "who's driving?"


	4. Reunion

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys, I appreciate them. I have my old battered copy of "The Outsiders" in front of me, checking my facts -- the old, old one with the red cover. The book seriously rocks, but we all knew that. I do not own the Curtis boys (except for Danny Curtis, he's mine), Johnny, Dally, Two-Bit, Steve, or the DX station. _

**Chapter 4: Reunion**

Soda had planned to tell Darry quietly that Pony and Cinnamon had come to see him, but when he pushed open the door of the hospital room, the bed was empty. A nurse was changing the sheets.

"Excuse me?" Soda began, and when she turned, he recognized her from one of Darry's frequent hospital stays. "Tracy. Hi. Where's my brother?"

"He's gone for an MRI, Mr. Curtis," she answered.

"Soda," he corrected her, motioning Pony and Cinnamon into the room. "Tracy, this is my brother Ponyboy and my sister Cinnamon. This is Tracy, about the only nurse who can make your oldest brother smile."

"He's not a fan of hospitals," Pony allowed.

"Most people aren't," Tracy said.

Cinnamon picked up Darry's chart from the end of the bed. Tracy took it from her gently. "I'm sorry, that's confidential."

"I'm his sister, and I'm a nurse," Cinnamon said.

"He's an adult, and it's still confidential."

Cinnamon smiled stiffly. "Of course. I'm sorry. It's just – we've been very worried, as you can imagine."

The minute Tracy was gone, Cinnamon picked up the chart.

"I've done that, while Darry's been sleeping," Soda admitted. "But it didn't make a lick of sense to me."

Cinnamon scanned the pages quickly, not wanting to be caught. She gasped when she saw the chemo dosage and the note to resume treatment the following day.

"What?" her brothers asked in unison.

"He's pretty sick," she said softly.

"Yeah, he sure was," Soda said.

"No, he still is." Cinnamon flipped the chart over. "But I don't understand … they haven't even typed him?" When her brothers looked blank, she explained, "At my hospital, if a patient is looking for a donor, there's a big sticker on the chart. And the chemo seems aggressive if he's … oh, no. _No_. Darry, you blasted idiot." At the bottom of the page, under the list of medications and doctors' orders, it said, "BMT discussed with patient. Patient declined." She tilted the page so her brothers could see.

"I don't know what that means," Pony said finally.

"BMT is short for bone-marrow transplant. He needs a transplant – he … it's like he needs an oil change. The chemo will help, but it won't make him better." Cinnamon replaced the chart and faced Pony and Soda. "Listen to me. He has to have this. If he doesn't have it, he won't get well. That note means the doctor talked to him about it, and he said no."

The door opened then and a burly orderly wheeled Darry into the room. While Soda looked merely relieved to see him, Pony and Cinnamon were stunned. They'd both been to Tulsa for Christmas and Darry had been playing football in the yard with Laura and Pony, his blond hair beginning to gray a bit but still his handsome, rugged self. Now, he sat dwarfed in the hospital johnny, his skin sallow and loose, looking thin and dreadful and … sick.

Pony turned away, tears welling in his eyes. Soda shot him a sharp warning look as Cinnamon hugged and kissed her brother. "Surprise," she said.

"For me or you?" Darry said dryly. Even his voice was weak. He looked accusingly at Soda but his eyes slid past him to Ponyboy, shaking silently against the wall. "Soda. You promised."

"When you're running a fever of 103 and my little girl is calling 911, all promises are off," Soda said cheerily.

Darry stood shakily and Cinnamon waved the orderly off, sliding her arms around her brother's torso. She could feel his ribs. "C'mon, want to get into bed?"

Every step was an effort. When Darry was settled against the pillows, Cinnamon took a minute to straighten the blankets and pour him a glass of water, trying not to notice that he was out of breath. "There," she said. "You should have called sooner, I could have been your private nurse."

But Darry was looking at Ponyboy, who still had his face to the wall. "Pony."

No response.

"Ponyboy. Come here."

Darry's voice was fragile, but still held authority. It was the voice that, as teenagers, Pony and Cinnamon had obeyed, first out of fear, but then out of respect. And Pony obeyed now, taking a moment to run a hand over his eyes and take a shuddering breath before going to his eldest brother's side. He didn't speak, just stroked Darry's hair softly and sniffled.

Soda came up behind Cinnamon and hugged her. He was remembering a long-ago time, and a very sick Ponyboy, delirious with fever, and how Darry didn't leave his side, finally dragging the armchair into the bedroom when he was falling asleep on his feet.

"I'm sorry," Pony said finally. "I promised Soda I wouldn't."

"Well, Soda promised me he'd let you two be, so I guess we can see what promises are worth in this family," Darry said.

"Darry, hush," Cinnamon scolded. "Shame on you, not calling us. Look at you. We could have helped. We can help now."

"Not now," Darry said. There was a finality to his voice that frightened his siblings.

Cinnamon sat on the edge of his bed. "I read your chart."

"That's private."

"So sue me." She leaned forward, resting her palm against his cheek. "Darry, you have to do this. You have to try. Pony and Soda and me, we're going to get tested. Maybe one of us will match."

"No."

"You can't stop us," Pony said mildly.

Darry closed his eyes. It tired him to talk. "No, I s'pose not. But I can stop them from doing it to me."

There was a strained, horrified silence, and finally Cinnamon said, "You can't be serious."

Darry didn't answer.

"Darry, it's nothing – it's not even that invasive, there's a tube in your chest –"

"We're going to do more chemo, and see what happens," Darry said stubbornly.

"I can tell you what's going to happen," Cinnamon snapped. "The dose is going to kill you. It's going to make you so weak you'll blow away. Some flu bug will happen by and that will be that."

"Cinnamon Marie, God almighty," Pony said in a strangled voice.

"Excuse me? 'God almighty?' Do you understand what he's saying?"

"See?" Darry said accusingly to Sodapop. "This is why I didn't want you to call them. Pony's got that face and Cinny thinks she's up and gone to med school." He closed his eyes, as if not seeing them would make them disappear.

This was not the time. There was not much time to talk Darry into the transplant, but it could wait a few hours. Cinnamon took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I'll let you rest -- I'll be back later. I'll bring you your own jammies, you'll be more comfortable."

"I'm 41 years old. I don't wear jammies," Darry muttered.

"Then I'll bring sweatpants and boxers," she said. "Don't be such a crab apple. And don't try to out-stubborn me, Darrel Curtis."

That brought a small smile. Darry reached out a hand and Cinnamon caught it and kissed his fingers. "I know you're glad we came," she said soothingly. "So stop fussing at us, get some sleep, and we'll see you soon."

Both Pony and Soda kissed Darry's forehead, but he'd already fallen asleep. The three of them tiptoed out of the room and walked slowly down the hall.

"Well, that went well," Cinnamon said, brightly sarcastic. "I should have kept my mouth closed."

"Yes, ma'am," Soda agreed, ducking as Cinnamon swatted at him.

Pony looked around as if he were trying to get his bearings.

"The garage is this way," Cinnamon said.

"It's not that."

"Then what?" Soda asked.

"I was just thinking, you know when the last time I was here was?" Pony said. "The night Johnny died." _Stay gold_, he thought absently. The snatch of Robert Frost came to him in moments of stress, like a prayer. Like a reminder. It was what he'd called his book, which sat dusty in the bottom drawer of his desk in Salt Lake City.

Cinnamon and Soda exchanged a glance. "You were here later that night, too," Cinnamon said, "after you passed out at the lot. You just don't remember."

_But I do,_ Soda thought. Ponyboy had come back to the house after the rumble and stammered out that Johnny had died. Cinnamon, painting iodine on Two-Bit's shredded knuckles, dropped the bottle and screamed that Pony was a liar, a liar – and then Dally called and a half hour later, Pony was in the hospital, concussed and fighting off a fever of 104, and the gang of eight was six, just like that. Cinnamon, Soda and Darry had spent three days, first at Saint Frank's and then at home, keeping vigil over Pony, as if their mere presence could stave off death.

_And it had worked, hadn't it?_ _Maybe it could work again. _

"Do y'all realize all that happened in a year?" Cinnamon said suddenly. "Less than a year. Mom and Dad in February, Johnny and Dally in November." Thanksgiving that year had been awful. They'd been invited to Two-Bit's house but refused to go. Darry watched football all day, Soda worked at the DX and Cinnamon and Pony didn't come out of their respective rooms. Cinnamon didn't even get out of bed. Christmas was marginally better. And somehow, after the first of the year, things began to slowly improve. Pony went back out for track. Cinnamon started studying harder. Soda got a raise and Darry cut back his hours. Life became living again, not existing. Gradually, there was happiness and joy, and the memories of their fallen friends and late parents brought tender smiles instead of bitter tears.

"We can do this," Soda said. "We been through worse. Or just as bad, anyway."

"We can do it," Pony agreed. "It's Darry who worries me."


	5. Night Thoughts, Part 1

_A/N to Soliteyah -- if Darry's your fav, you should like this. All reviews welcome. And if anyone knows what the boys' mom's name was, let me know. I couldn't find itanywhere so Imade it up. _

**Chapter 5: Night thoughts, part 1**

When Darry woke, the room was dark. The glass of water Cinnamon had poured still sat on the night stand and he sat up to sip at it, trying to ease the dryness of his throat.

He supposed he understood why Soda had called them. Sodapop was always in the middle, always trying to make peace, always forgetting that conflict and tension didn't mean you didn't love each other. Maybe it wasn't a fair thing to ask. And Cinnamon was right – he _was_ glad they'd come. It always took him a moment to remember the two youngest were grown, a man and a woman, professional people with families of their own, but still his little sister and his baby brother. They, and Soda, were somehow his, despite the fact he wasn't actually all that much older. Once, years ago, Laura had asked him, "Why didn't you have any kids, Uncle Darry?" and Darry had answered, not thinking, "Why, I had your daddy and Uncle Pony and Aunt Cinnamon." It was true enough.

These days, he had little to do but think. He wasn't used to staying in bed or staying still and he'd never been much of a reader, except for the daily newspaper. TV bored him. So he thought. He remembered. Sometimes he smiled, but mostly he had regrets. He had come to terms with his illness. He never thought he'd live a long life anyway – hell, he was a little older now than his own father had ever lived to be. After the first panic, that morning in March when his legs refused to obey his brain, he'd been calm. He consented to the chemo and the radiation but the transplant -- the idea of someone else's blood and marrow running through his body – turned him cold. Somehow, that was a line he couldn't cross, and it was a line he couldn't let his siblings cross. They had children, all of them – what if something went wrong?

No. When it was your time, it was your time. He had not believed that years ago, but he believed it now. Otherwise, the idea of losing Johnny and Dally, and his parents, so suddenly and senselessly, would have driven him mad.

Darry could remember with painful clarity every last detail of the day his parents died. A state trooper had come to his dorm at the University of Oklahoma, broken the terrible news and then driven him back to Tulsa. When they got there, his siblings had already been told and the house was full of policemen and social workers. Darry was furious they hadn't been allowed to hear the news from someone who loved them and his anger was misinterpreted as stunned grief. Pony was sobbing on the couch with Soda's arms tight around him and Cinnamon, inexplicably, was in the kitchen making coffee. "Mommy would want me to," she'd stage-whispered to Darry, even though she hadn't called their mother "Mommy" in years. "She'd offer it to them, at least. And cake. I wish there was cake." She was cool and calm and completely unreasonable, and she didn't cry at all until Johnny Cade appeared at the back door, holding a handfulof wildflowers because he didn't know what to do and he thought he should bring something. At the sight of him, she burst into tears and cried in Johnny's arms until she threw up.

A social worker had pulled Darry aside and suggested she find a suitable place for the three younger children to stay, at least temporarily.

"No one should live like this," she said.

"Ma'am, everyone in this neighborhood lives like this," Darry said coldly, "and you ain't taking them anywhere."

But he'd thought about it. When the shock wore off, and he realized he'd have to quit school, he thought about it. He thought about foster homes – they couldn't be all bad, right? Would they let him visit? Could the three of them go together? He could ask, he thought – he could at least ask. He could finish his degree and get a real job, a good, higher-paying job, and reunite them. In two years, Soda would have been 18, so it would only have been Pony and Cinnamon he'd have had to get back. Maybe he could keep the house, come back weekends. Maybe it could work.

But in the end, he was selfish. He had lost his parents. He couldn't lose his little brothers and sister too. So he quit school, found a two jobs, and snarled at every state worker who came on the property. His main focus became keeping his family together, which was not only his blood family, but also the gang.

Sometimes, he thought he'd failed miserably.

It had been hard, and Darry was in it alone. There was so much his siblings didn't know. Darrel and Mary Curtis had left no wills andno life insurance. Cinnamon was already in nursing school when the funeral and hospital expenses were finally paid off and Darry was determined that, if he fell off a roof, Soda would not be in the same fix. As a result, he was obsessively covered, worth more dead than alive. Even when money was tightest, he paid that insurance premium before paying the electric bill.

There had been so many meetings with state workers – welfare workers, social workers, counselors.Darry could never understand why the state was so interested in how he was taking care of his siblings and no one gave a glance to Johnny Cade, who was battered and bruised and belittled almost daily. He was offered food stamps and fuel assistance and welfare and he refused it all, remembering how horrified his mother had been by the idea of "going on the county." He did accept the Social Security benefits because their father had earned them, but he banked most of it, and when the checks stopped coming when Pony turned 18, he split the money three ways to defer Pony and Cinnamon's college costs and help Soda buy the DX.

But it was exhausting. Juggling work and money and trying to be sure homework was done and there was food in the house and it was reasonably clean ... and having to explain every little decision to the social workers who showed up every few months to see how they were getting along. He had to convince them that Soda's quitting school hadn't been Darry's idea, that it might have happened anyway if their parents had lived. He had to think how to answer when the worker's eyes would narrow as she asked if they still "associated with hoodlums." And that business with Johnny killing Bob Sheldon -- Darry had been sure he'd lose them then. By the time Ponyboy left for college, Darry was 24 and already had an ulcer.

Maybe, he thought, he was sick so he could rest.

Sometimes, when Darry looked at his youngest brother, all he could see was the look on Pony's face the one and only time he'd hit him. It was the only time he'd hit any of them. Until that night, he'd been frustrated enough to threaten but he'd never struck. He'd raised his hand at both boys and once vowed to take Cinnamon over his knee until she couldn't sit down for a week, but he'd never done it. Not until that night. He would never forget any of it; it all came back to him in nightmares -- the way Pony's cheek turned red immediately, Soda and Cinnamon gasping aloud, Pony fleeing down the street as Darry screamed at him to stop, that he was sorry, and Cinnamon following, pulling Darry's old sweater over her head as she dared him to tell her to stay. Hours later, as the sun began to rise, Darry sat sleepless on the sofa with Soda, waiting for them to come back, too afraid of losing them permanently to call the police. He was terrified to think the betrayed look on Pony's face and the bitter curse Cinnamon had flung at him as she took off after their brother might be the last they lived in this house.

It was more than twenty years ago, yet Darry still believed, somewhere inside, that he, not the Socs, had killed Johnny and Dallas, because that one slap had set the whole chain in motion.

Maybe, he thought, as he swallowed water against nausea, this was what he deserved.


	6. Night Thoughts, Part II

**Night Thoughts, Part 2**

Ponyboy sat up abruptly in the dark silence of 4 a.m., moving so quickly his feet were on the floor before his eyes opened. He never slept well in Tulsa. No one but Michelle knew that. He'd been prone to nightmares since his parents died, and at one point they were so bad Darry had taken him to the doctor andhe andSoda began sharing a bed. When he was in college, during bad times,he had sometimes picked up women just so he wouldn't have tosleep alone. He sighed, running one hand over the stubble on his face. At least he didn't scream anymore.

Pony looked at his wife, sound asleep, her short brown hair sticking straight up onto the pillow. He wondered again how he had come to be so incredibly lucky to meet his wonderful wife. And Danny, his son. He had tried time and again to write about the love of a parent for his child, but the words wouldn't come.

Maybe there weren't any words. Or maybe it was too painful, even now, to think about losing his own parents.

That was the day Pony realized, though he was only 13, that your whole life can change in the space of a breath. He and Soda and Cinnamon had come around the corner of the block and seen their yard full of cruisers. They sprinted, fearing the worst, but never imagining what news waited for them. Later, Soda confessed he thought Dallas was holed up inside, hiding for some petty crime, while their mom tried to talk him into giving himself up. Ponyboy had collapsed on the couch, Cinnamon disappeared into the kitchen and refused to respond to Soda's tearful pleas to come sit with them, and the boys huddled together until Darry came home and took charge. He'd been in charge ever since, until now.

He couldn't … Pony couldn't even think the word. Darry couldn't leave them. One of them would match and he'd be fine.

Ponyboy pulled on his sweatshirt against the pre-dawn chill and padded down the hallway. The kids were all together, with Laura in her double bed, in Cinnamon's old room. All four of them had that same peculiar shade of red-gold hair the Curtis children had shared when they were younger. Sarah was upside down, her head on Laura's feet. Laura was gorgeous, a beautiful athletic girl who was smart and sweet and candid. She was a lot like her grandmother. Soda – and, to be fair, Darry – had done a good job with her. Danny was sucking his thumb, his bulky Pull-Up butt sticking straight up in the air. Johnny's mouth was wide open. Pony smiled, remembering watching the first Johnny and Cinnamon sleep in the church in Windrixville, thinking that people looked younger when they were asleep.

Johnny. Pony thought of Johnny often, but he tried not to think of what he'd come to call That Night, or sometimes, The Night That Changed His Life. There were things about That Night he didn't even know – for instance, how Cinnamon had been at the fountain when he came to, half-drowned. The last thing he remembered was hearing her screaming – screaming his name, screaming for Darry and Soda, screaming filthy words at the Socs. When woke up, he was lying in Cinnamon's lap, with her sweater torn so badly he could see the cup of her bra. Johnny was by the fountain, his switchblade dark to the hilt, Bob Sheldon dead beside him. It had been years before he realized that not only had those Socs meant to kill him, and probably Johnny, they'd meant to rape his sister too. No wonder Johnny had gone berserk.

Maybe, someday, he'd ask his sister what had happened during those moments he was underwater and unconscious.

It was almost funny to think now that for five days he and his sister had been honest-to-God fugitives from the law. Those days in the church were long and frightening but Pony looked back on some moments almost with nostalgia. He had been nearly content dozing next to Cinnamon, with Johnny on her other side, and it had been funny to watch them making puppy-dog eyes at each other. _They'd been in love for years,_ Pony thought now, _we were all just too young to know it_. They'd taken turns reading _Gone with the Wind_ to pass the time. Pony still had the book, with his last letter from Johnny tucked inside, in the bottom drawer of the desk in his home office, on top of his unpublished novel.

Maybe it was time to send that out.

Soda was snoring softly on the couch, having given up his room to Cinnamon and Clinton. Pony tiptoed past him. It was a familiar sight – he couldn't remember a time in his childhood when someone or another had been sacked out on the couch. He went into the kitchen to quietly make coffee and wondered what time visiting hours at Saint Francis Hospital started.


	7. Of Marrow and Matches

_Keep those reviews coming! I'm loving the encouragement! _

**Chapter 7: Of marrow and matches**

The doctor told Pony, Soda and Cinnamon that, as full siblings, they had the best chance to be bone marrow donors for Darry. Michelle and Clinton got tested too, more as a support than anything. It was a simple blood test, and it took less than ten minutes for the five of them.

There was only one problem. Darry still hadn't consented.

"Please, just explain it to me," Cinnamon said, trying hard to sound calm. She was sitting on the edge of Darry's hospital bed, just the two of them. The others had agreed that she had the best chance of talking Darry into the transplant, but so far, he wasn't budging. "What can it hurt to try? They put a tube in your chest and transfuse you that way. You'll sleep through it. I promise."

"No."

"You're not being reasonable."

"I have leukemia. I don't have to be reasonable."

"Stop saying that. Will you stop saying that?"

Darry closed his eyes. It seemed to be his only defense. "Do you know what happens to you if you're a match?" he asked. "I woudn't ask anyone to do that. What if something went wrong? Do you know what they do to get the marrow out of you?"

"Of course I do, Darry, I'm a nurse," she said impatiently. "Little needles in your pelvic bone, under aesthesia. It's uncomfortable. Big deal."

Darry started. The argument had worked on Soda – he'd described the process as "surgery" -- but Soda was a mechanic. Cinnamon had medical training.

"I ain't asking you to do that," he said finally.

"You didn't." Cinnamon crossed the room to sit on the bed. "Darry, c'mon, please. _Please. _Like any of us would say, 'oh, no, excuse me, I don't think I want to be a little inconvenienced to save my brother's life.' I'd let my five-year-old have this done, if it would help you. Of course I would." She took her brother's hand. "Darry. Wouldn't you do it for me? I know you would. Then what's the difference?"

Darry just shook his head. "You won't understand."

"Try me."

"It won't come out right, Cinny, I ain't good with words like Pony is. I just … it is what it is, is all."

Cinnamon tried another tack. "What about Johnny and Sarah? What about Danny? Don't you want to see them grow up? And Laura. You're practically Laura's mother."

Darry was silent.

"Dammit," Cinnamon breathed, "what about me? What about Ponyboy and Sodapop? Why you itchin' to leave us, all of a sudden?"

"I'm not."

"You _are_!" she protested, and she began to cry. She was going to lose this argument. She'd been around too many stubborn patients not to know when she was beat.

Darry sighed. "Listen to me. I've had a lot of time to get used to this. You've only been here since yesterday. I feel like we tried, we did all that chemo and radiation stuff and it came back. It wants me. I don't know why, exactly, but it does. Even if one of you matches, the chance of this working is only 30 percent."

She stared at him, shocked. "It's that advanced?"

"Yeah, it's that advanced. I'm not stupid, Cinnamon. I don't particularly want to die and I ain't itchin' to leave anybody. But it is what it is, and I don't like the odds."

"But if you don't do it, the odds that you'll die are 100 percent," she pointed out.

Darry smiled at her and gently touched her cheek. "Baby girl, the odds are 100 percent that I'll die anyway. This way, I get to know when. There's advantages to that."

* * *

As it turned out, it was a moot point. None of them matched. As a professional courtesy to Cinnamon, the lab ran the tests again, but they all came back the same. 

"So now what?" Soda asked grimly. There were six of them sitting around the kitchen table: Pony, Michelle, Soda, Laura, Cinnamon and Clint. The younger children were watching "Shark Tale" for the fourth time.

"There's an international registry, but he won't go on it," Cinnamon said. "So …" She let her voice trail off.

"So? So what? So nothing?" Soda said, shocked. "So … nice to know you, see ya later?" He shook his head. "No. There has to be something."

"You guys, I'm not wild about this either, but short of forging his signature I'm not sure what we can do," Cinnamon said.

"Do you think he's rational?" Pony asked. "I mean, could we make him do it? Go to court or something?"

Michelle uttered a short laugh. Pony glared at her. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's not funny. It's _so_ not funny. But I'm trying to picture Darry's reaction to _that._"

"He's not irrational," Laura said. The adults all turned to look at her. "I mean, can't you follow his train of thought? I'm not saying I agree with him, but I see what he's sayin'." Her eyes filled with tears. "I love Uncle Darry with all my heart. He's like my other dad. I want him to fight this stupid blood disease any way he can. But … but if he doesn't want to, then that's not up to us, you know? It doesn't matter how much we love him or how stupid we think he's being. It's not our decision."

Clint leaned over and kissed his niece's cheek. She was right.

"Well, don't that suck," Soda said dully.

"I didn't say it doesn't suck, Daddy. Of course it sucks. It's the suckiest thing ever."

"Watch your tongue, Laura."

"I'm sorry," she said sweetly. "But it is the right word for it, isn't it?"

"Yes," Soda said. "It fits."

"So what the hell are we supposed to do? Just stand around and watch him die?" Pony said. His voice caught on the last word. "'Cause I won't. I _can't._"

"No," Cinnamon said. "What we're supposed to do is support him and help him die."

"You are right out of your mind, Cinnamon Marie," Pony said flatly. "You've been taking some of that medicine you've been giving your patients."

"We owe him," Soda reminded his little brother. "We talked about this."

"We did not talk about _this_!" Pony cried. "We talked about getting tested for a transplant, about taking turns staying here with you guys so you and Laura weren't so overwhelmed. We talked about making sure the hospital bills were being paid and getting nurses if we needed them but we most certainly did _not talk about him dying!_"

"Pony --"

"'Help him die,' what the Christ does that even mean?" he said scornfully. "Want some juice? Some hemlock? Maybe I can turn on the gas and blow out the pilot light." He stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair over behind him. "I'm not staying here listening to his nonsense."

"Sometimes you don't get to pick the debt, Ponyboy," Soda said. "You just pay it, when it comes due."

"Well, ain't you the philosopher all of a sudden," Pony said coldly.

"Your editor would have a stroke to hear you speak like that," Michelle said, rising to wrap her husband in her arms. Pony dropped his head to her shoulder and Michelle rubbed small, loving circles on the back of Pony's head. "Stop taking this out on your brother and sister. It's not their fault. It's no one's fault. It just is. It's awful and horrible and Laura's right, it sucks, but it is what it is."

She sounded just like Darry.

"Shelly," Pony mumbled, as if it were only the two of them in the room, "I can't do this. Do you hear me? I _cannot.**" **_

"I know, honey," she said quietly. "That's exactly why we're all going to help each other." She looked at the rest of them, this rag-tag family she married into that she loved with all her heart, as if she'd known them from birth. "So let's figure out what's next, and we'll just do that. We'll just do one thing at time."


	8. Girls' Day Out

_A/N – thanks for the reviews – I was afraid everyone would stop speaking to me. Sometimes when I begin a story, I don't know what the characters are going to do. I didn't actually know Darry would be this stubborn until I started typing. I'd really like to know what you think of this chapter, since there's a scene involving no one in the original book. _

_Note to Keira – what things did you notice? The only thing I consciously changed was I fiddled with the time-line, so those are mistakes. If you can post a review or e-mail me and I'll fix it. _

_This is a little lighter – I can't have 15 chapters of angst. _

**Chapter 8: Girls' Day Out**

On Wednesday morning, the kitchen was full of Curtises – by blood and by marriage. The house hadn't been so full, Soda thought, since they were teenagers and the gang used the place as a drop-in center.

Clint and Cinnamon had packed up and right after breakfast, Clint was taking the kids back to Kansas City. He needed to get back to work and the kids had to get ready for the start of school, but he promised to come back late Friday night and every weekend. Cinnamon had taken a leave of absence from her job and was prepared to stay in Tulsa for as long as necessary. Ponyboy had called his editor, who told him to take a couple of weeks and then work from Oklahoma if he felt up to it. Michelle's job was taking care of Danny, so the three of them were there for the long haul.

Soda smiled, happy to have them all under the same roof, even with the current circumstances. Darry would probably be released that afternoon so he could spend some time at home with his family while he felt relatively well.

He poured a second cup of coffee and felt Laura come up beside him. Without turning around, he said, "No."

"I didn't even ask you!"

"You ain't going overnight to Oklahoma City with a boy."

"Laura, my, my, my," Ponyboy said, amused.

"It's not like that," Laura protested. "The concert will be out really late, and we're staying with Tom's brother."

"No."

"If I was going with Miranda, would you let me go?" Laura challenged. "Or Becca, or Elizabeth?"

Soda considered that. "Mm. Yeah, probably."

"Yeah? Well, what if I were a lesbian? What's the difference?"

Soda choked.

"Mommy," Sarah asked Cinnamon, "What's a lesbian?"

"It's a girl who marries a girl instead of a boy," Cinnamon said.

"Is Laura a lesbian?"

Clinton and Pony were shaking with silent laughter.

"No, Laura is not a lesbian, and she is not going," Soda snapped.

"What's wrong with being a lesbian?" Michelle couldn't resist.

"Yeah, that would be better than marrying an icky boy," Sarah declared. "All boys are icky except daddies and uncles."

"And brothers," Clint reminded her.

"No, Johnny's icky," Sarah said.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with … Glory be, never mind," Soda said in exasperation. "Laura. You can go to the concert with Tom and come home after. I'll give you my cell phone and you can check in. Or you can go with Becca and I'll give you money for a hotel. You are not staying with Tom at his brother's house. And I will find out, so don't even think a hotel room with Tom would be a nice plan."

"I -- "

"And didn't you tell me you needed to go shopping for school clothes?" Soda interrupted.

"You're going to bribe me with designer jeans?" Laura said hopefully.

"I'll take you, if you want," Cinnamon said. She looked at Michelle. "Girls' day? What do you think? We could use a break."

"I'm a girl," Sarah said. "I could come and be a lesbian like Laura."

"Laura is not -- " Soda began, and then looked at his younger brother. Ponyboy's face was practically purple, he was trying so hard not to bust out laughing. "You're enjoyin' this, aren't you?"

"As a matter of fact," Pony managed.

* * *

The Curtis house was still on the north side, and it was still not in the rich section, but the neighborhood was much less dangerous than it had been 20 years ago. The Greaser and Soc rivalry had faded and Laura's friends included boys and girls who lived in million-dollar homes. Most of the kids Laura knew shopped at the Eastland Mall so that was where she directed her aunts. She had $200 from Soda and strict orders to spend it wisely, but both Cinnamon and Michelle, caught up the fun of trying on clothes and shopping the sales, bought her an outfit each.

Laura collapsed in a chair in the food court and Michelle went to get drinks. "This was fun," she said. "Daddy means well, but he makes the most ridiculous suggestions, you know?"

"Do I know?" Cinnamon said. "Please. You've seen pictures of my high school graduation, right?"

Laura giggled, thinking of the dress she and her friend Becca privately called "the pink monstrosity."

Michelle returned with three Cokes and a plate of French fries. "I just saw the cutest pair of shoes," she said. "I don't know. They're completely impractical for chasing a three-year-old."

Cinnamon gestured to her jeans and sweatshirt. "Clint always says they're going to put me on the don't wear that show."

Laura laughed. "It's called 'What Not To Wear,' Aunt Cinnamon."

"I'm perfectly happy in my old jeans. I'm used to it. I mostly wore your dad's old jeans growing up. And since I get to wear scrubs to work, there's no need to be fancy. Uncle Clinton says he's glad I'm not high maintenance."

"Did you meet Uncle Clint in nursing school?" Laura asked, sipping at her Coke.

"Sort of. I was doing a clinical – my practice in the hospital – and he came into the emergency room. He'd fallen up a flight of stairs and busted his nose."

Michelle choked. "Holy cats, Cinny. I knew you met him in the ER, but --"

"I know. He said he liked me right away but he didn't ask me out until two weeks later, because he said he was sure I wouldn't date such a stupid boy." Cinnamon sighed. "He was right. I married him instead."

"What about you, Aunt Michelle?" Laura asked.

"What about me? How'd I meet your uncle Pony, you mean?" At Laura's nod, Michelle answered, "OK, I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to repeat it."

Cinnamon and Laura both nodded.

"The official story is – the produce section of the grocery store."

"That's what I thought," Cinnamon said.

"The real story? God, he's going to kill me. OK – the real story is traffic school. I had a million parking tickets, Pony had a million speeding tickets, he was sitting behind me, and the rest is history."

"Traffic school? That's all?" Laura said. "Why is that a secret?"

"Because he didn't want to hear Darry and Soda give him grief about it for the rest of his life. And you know they would have." Michelle pitched her voice in a perfect imitation of Sodapop. "'Glory be, Pony, y'all gonna kill yourself with that lead foot. And after what happened to Mom and Dad, I'd think you'd be drivin' like an old lady.'"

She was dead-on. Cinnamon and Laura both burst into laughter and Cinnamon suddenly wondered if that was the real reason Soda didn't bother to keep his license current.

Laura took a deep breath. "What about my parents?" When no one answered, she said, more clearly, "How did Daddy meet Emily?" She had a hard time thinking of her as "Mom" – she didn't remember her at all and had only seen a few photographs.

"You should ask him," Cinnamon said.

"I have. Repeatedly. He won't talk about her. He doesn't say anything bad about her, exactly, but he won't discuss it."

Michelle held up her hands. "Sorry, sweetie, that's before my time."

Laura looked pointedly at her other aunt, and Cinnamon said, "At the station. She came in for gas. Soda said he pumped her gas and told her she owed him ten bucks and her phone number. And she gave it to him. You might not see it, because he's your father, but he's pretty charming."

"And damned handsome," Michelle said.

Laura sighed. "My girlfriends see it. 'Oh, Laura, your daddy's so _cute_!' And I'm like, 'Dude, he's my _father!'_ Ick."

"I know," Cinnamon said. "Half our school wanted to be friends with me so I'd introduce them to Soda."

"Why'd she leave?" Laura asked suddenly. "My mother. Why didn't she stay?"

"They were young, Laura," Cinnamon said. "Your dad was 22, but Emily was only 19, I think."

"I can't imagine having a baby at 19," Michelle said.

"I know," Cinnamon said. "When my mother was 25, she had four kids under the age of six. I don't know how she did it."

"So Grandma was young," Laura said. "So it's not like it's impossible. And Uncle Darry was only 20 when he took on the rest of you." Laura thought of that sometimes, having all that responsibility, and it always gave her new-found respect for both her oldest uncle and her father. "Didn't … why didn't she want me?"

Cinnamon was startled to see tears in the young girl's eyes. She leaned across the table and put her hand on top of Laura's. "I don't think she didn't want you," Cinnamon said carefully. She was mentally cursing Sodapop; this was a conversation he should have had with his daughter long ago. "Remember, Laura, I was at school then, so I only know what I heard from Darry. But they were young, and your mom … your mom still had some living she wanted to do. Your daddy was so taken with you, he wanted you from the minute he heard you were coming, so he was happy to take care of you and let your mother do what she needed to do."

"Did she drink?" Laura said. "I thought I heard Uncle Darry say once she drank. Or did coke, or something."

"I heard that, too, but remember, sweetie, I only met her twice," Cinnamon said honestly. "I don't know first hand."

"Daddy doesn't have any patience for that," Laura said thoughtfully.

"No, he never did," Cinnamon said. "And maybe it was better for you, if Emily was like that, for you to be away from her. And maybe … maybe she thought it was too late, after a time. Soda kept talking about finding a place of his own, for the two of you, but you were settled into the house, and so there you stayed."

"I can't imagine not living with Uncle Darry," Laura said, and then uttered a little gasp as she realized what she'd said.

Cinnamon pointedly ignored the double meaning. "Your uncle Darry got a crash course in parenting with us. It was a bumpy first year, but he did OK. I think part of you guys living there was because your dad didn't want to leave Darry alone."

"I've thought that, too," Michelle said. "Darry comes off a lot tougher than he really is." She looked at Cinnamon. "Do you remember how he cried at our wedding?"

"Uncle Darry?" Laura asked, shocked.

"Oh, yeah," Michelle said. "His baby brother was getting married. He denied it though, until the pictures came back." One of those photos, a shot of Darry, Soda, Cinnamon and Ponyboy with their arms all wrapped around each other, Soda kissing Pony's cheek, was framed in her living room. "I remember the first time I met him, I kept thinking if he didn't like me, that'd be it, Pony and I would have to break up. But he's a pushover. You just gotta know where to push."

She was right, Cinnamon thought. In many ways, Darry had been strict and stern and demanding, but he was also fair and loving and fiercely loyal to his family. He had always taken good care of them, even when they were grown. Cinnamon was not looking forward to finding out what it would be like to lose that.


	9. Visiting

_A/N – You're right about Darry and college – I just found it in the book. I had thought since he was 20, he was already there. Ah, well. In this chapter you'll definitely notice the way I played with the time line. Thanks so much, to all of you, for taking the time to read this. It's not like I could publish it anywhere else. And yes, I am cranking this out, but that's because it's been in my damn head for 30 years.  (And I, of course, starred as Cinnamon. Any of y'all ever do that?)_

**Chapter 8: Visiting old friends**

Green Acres Memorial Gardens had always struck Sodapop as an odd name for a cemetery. He always got that snatch of song, the theme from the old TV show, stuck in his head. He walked down the path with his sister and nephew, softly whistling.

It was early Saturday morning. Clint and the kids had returned around midnight. Darry had come home from the hospital Wednesday afternoon, right on schedule. None them allowed themselves to think that Darry had come home "to die" but Cinnamon had quietly called the hospice department at Saint Frank's and Clinton and Soda had stashed a hospital bed in the garage in case it became necessary. Neither Soda nor Cinnamon talked about the primary reason for their trip, each pretending for the other's sake they'd come to only to pay respects to their parents and old friends. That was true – but they also wanted to see if it was a place Darry might like. Pony had refused to come and his siblings hadn't pushed.

They'd been to see their parents, and the small, set stone that only said "Winston," and now stopped at a plot under a red maple tree. For years, Johnny's grave had been just a marker, a round metal plate with an anonymous number on it, and every couple of months one of the gang came by and pulled the weeds around it so it wouldn't disappear completely. Now, there was a simple stone:

_John Walter Cade_

_1969-1985_

_Stay Gold_

Four years before, Pony and Cinnamon had split the cost and never told anyone.

"Until this showed up, I never knew his middle name was Walter," Soda said.

"Me, either," Cinnamon replied, a small smile playing about her lips, remembering the conversation with Ponyboy.

_Walter? You're sure?_

_I'm a reporter, Cinny. I knew where to look it up. _

Cinnamon traced her fingers over the recessed letters. Soda snuck a glance at his sister. He knew she loved Clint with her whole heart, but he also knew Johnny had been her first true love, and she'd seen that end in spectacular fashion. When they'd been on the run with Pony, the three of them sleeping in the church in Windrixville, Johnny and Cinnamon had fallen hard, finally acknowledging the feelings they'd been having for months. The gang had no idea; they all thought of her as a little sister, but Soda, having Sandy, had seen it coming a mile away.

Soda heard the story from Ponyboy as the younger boy shivered under his arm in the middle of the night. Dally had showed up to check on them and Johnny decided they'd go back and turn themselves in. The whole time Johnny was explaining his reasoning to an increasingly angry Dally, Cinnamon had sat quietly, rubbing her fingers on his shoulder. She'd have stayed by Johnny if he'd been sent away, Soda knew. Cinnamon was a greaser girl, but she wasn't trash like Dally's old girl, Sylvia, and she wasn't a two-timer like his Sandy turned out to be. And she wasn't a runner, like Emily, Laura's mother. Cinnamon was poor but she was decent and sweet and she looked at Johnny in a way none of her brothers had never seen before.

When they got back to the church to find it in flames, as they raced toward the sounds of screaming, trapped children, Johnny had skidded to a stop, turned to Cinnamon, and bellowed in her face, "Stay here!" Dally and Pony were momentarily stunned by the strong, decisive voice coming from meek little Johnnycake. Johnny crushed Cinnamon in a kiss and repeated, "Stay here. I love you. Stay here."

She obeyed, and so she'd had a perfect view when Hell fell in on top of her baby brother, her old friend, and her first real love.

"Johnnycake, come on by here," Soda called to his nephew, and for a moment Cinnamon's heart skipped a beat. It was as if the world had tilted, hearing Soda call out that old name as she knelt by Johnny Cade's grave.

Cinnamon drew her son close to her. "Sweetie, this is Johnny. This is the boy you are named for."

Johnny, her Johnny, looked seriously at the stone. "Is he dead, like Grandma and Grandpa?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Was he in an accident, too?"

"No." Cinnamon cleared her throat. "He was hurt in a fire. He was a hero, Johnny, he saved a bunch of children, about your age. Uncle Pony, too."

"And Dallas," Soda said quietly.

"Yes, and Dallas," Cinnamon said. "Do you remember we told you a little about Dallas? And he's buried right up there? He helped them. He pulled Johnny and Uncle Pony out when the fire got really bad."

"Really?" Johnny's voice was awed. "So he saved Uncle Pony's life?"

Cinnamon's breath caught in her throat. "Well, yes, I guess he did." She looked up at Soda. "All these years, and I never thought of it like that, but I suppose that's the truth. He helped save those kids and Pony and Johnny too."

The newspaper had thought so – Cinnamon still had the articles up in her attic, the pages of newsprint praising the "hoodlums turned heroes." But Dally had been the only honest-to-God hoodlum of the bunch and he'd been the most reluctant hero. He had been swearing a blue streak for Ponyboy and Johnny to come out of the flames before he finally went in after them. When the police and ambulances showed up, Pony and Johnny were both unconscious and Dally was _still _swearing, despite the burns on his arm. Cinnamon was calm, ordering the paramedics around and answering the policemen. Later, at the hospital, they said she was in shock. She stayed cool, spooking Ponyboy even more than he already was, until Darry and Soda came.

_She wanted to stay,_ Soda remembered suddenly. _When Darry and I got there, and it was time to go home, she wanted to stay with Johnny, and when Darry wouldn't let her, she just sat down on the floor and cried until I picked her up and carried her out to the car._

"It was like the whole world was on fire," she said now, as if she were reading Soda's mind. "I couldn't think of anything at all until I saw you and Darry." They had hugged and cried and leapt around like fools, and once the dam broke, she simply couldn't stop.

Johnny watched them quietly. He adored his uncles. Uncle Soda was cool, he drove fast cars and was always cheerful and smiling and he could fix anything. Uncle Pony was quiet and typed a lot but he would sit down and play games and listen to you forever. And Uncle Darry knew all about football and played hard in the yard with him, never too busy to rough and tumble.

But he'd been too sick to do that since Johnny had arrived.

"Mom?" he asked.

"Yes, baby?"

"Is Uncle Darry sick?"

Soda's breath caught, but Cinnamon just said, "Yes, baby."

"Is he sick enough to die?"

"I think so, Johnny, yes," Cinnamon said quietly.

"What made you ask that, buddy?" Soda asked.

Johnny shrugged. "He looks funny. Y'all are whispering. Uncle Pony's upset. I just thought." He paused. "I was hopin' you'd say I was silly, though." He fiddled with the grass. "Can we go home now? I want to play with Uncle Darry. You know … for now. While … well, I just do."

Soda had to look away and his gaze fell on the section of the cemetery where their parents were buried. What if they had known? What if he'd been able to give his father one last hug, his mother one last kiss? Just one more "I love you" to make sure they knew. And to make sure _he_ knew they knew.

He held out his hand and pulled Cinnamon to her feet, keeping her hand firmly tucked in his and reaching for his nephew with the other. "I think that's a wonderful idea, buddy," he said. "Let's go home."


	10. On Saturday Night

_A/N: Hairbo and Tensleep, I will change the first paragraph if you want. There is a scene in this chapter from the original book. I don't own any of that. I don't own any other original character, either. Thanks so much for the reviews. I'm so glad I finally get to share this. _

**Chapter 10: On Saturday Night**

The Dingo, where the Curtises and the rest of the gang spent many hours, was long gone, and in its stead was a country-western sports bar called Hairbo's Ten. No one was quite sure what the name meant, but it was close and rumored to be fun, so Cinnamon, Clint, Pony and Michelle piled into the rental car to check it out.

It'd been a hassle getting them out of the house. Laura offered to babysit – both the younger children and her uncle -- and Soda intended to meet them after he closed the station. He was going to stop at home first and see if Darry felt well enough to come out at all, even for an hour.

Darry had insisted they go. "Don't plan around me," he said. "I won't know until the last minute if I want to go, so y'all should go ahead."

Cinnamon checked four times to be sure Laura had all the appropriate cell phone numbers, hovering anxiously, until finally the teenager said, "Aunt Cinny. With all due respect and all that, I know Uncle Darry's sick. I've been helping take care of him since March. We're fine. Please just go. And stop feeling guilty, we can't just sit around and look at each other. You'll make Uncle Darry mental." She paused. "And me."

Soda had raised a smart girl.

The HT, as the locals called it, had helped bring up the property values in that part of town. When Dingo burned to the ground, the people who bought the land erected a bar where you could dance country line dances, watch football, play pool and drink beer. Some nights there were live bands and stand-up comedy and most nights, it was packed.

The four of them came through the door and were immediately engulfed in an old Patsy Cline song. Cinnamon smiled. "Do you remember how Mom loved Patsy Cline?" she murmured to Ponyboy.

"I do," he answered. "While Dad was blasting Van Halen." He looked around nervously. His hand stole to his mouth, the old chewing-old-the-fingernails habit returning in times of stress.

"What?" his wife asked.

"I was just thinking if it was a good idea to leave Darry."

"He's fine with Laura." Michelle gently pulled his hand down. "Sweetie, this is like a date. Imagine. I don't remember the last time we did this."

"I do," Pony said. "The last time we had a real date, you got pregnant with Danny."

Cinnamon clapped her hands over her ears. "Eww… ewww… Ponyboy – quit it!"

"Did you think Danny came by stork?" Michelle asked, amused.

"No, but I don't have to know. Pony's my baby brother and I don't need to know what he's doing after dates. Ew." Cinnamon was visibly squirming. Ponyboy busted out laughing, probably the hardiest laugh he'd enjoyed since he and Michelle and Danny got off the plane from Salt Lake City.

Clinton shook his head. "I'm getting beers. Everyone?" Pony, Michelle and Cinnamon all nodded and Clint disappeared toward the bar. The other three found a small table in the corner of the room, far enough from the dance floor to not be deafened by the music but close enough to watch.

"Praise Allah and Buddha and Jesus Christ Himself – is that Ponyboy Curtis? And is that your beautiful sister with you?"

They looked blankly at the man standing next to the table, grinning at them like a fool, and then Ponyboy leaped to feet to hug him.

"Two-Bit!"

And it was. As soon as Pony said it, Cinnamon recognized the wide, broad grin and the rust-colored mustache. His face and belly were rounder and his hair was grayer, but it was definitely him.

"What are you doing here?" Cinnamon asked as she hugged their old friend.

"Headlining."

"Excuse me?"

"Headlining," Two-Bit repeated, pointing to a sign behind them. None of them had noticed it when they sat down. "Tonight only, Tulsa's own Two-Bit Mathews!"

"You sing?" Pony asked.

"Well, yeah, but badly, and that's not why I'm here."

"Stand-up," Cinnamon said. "Gotta be."

Pony pulled a fifth chair to the table as Clint came back with the beer. They made quick introductions. Clint and Michelle, of course, had heard of Two-Bit, but had never met him. Cinnamon and Pony hadn't seen him in more than a decade.

"Can we get you a drink?" Clint asked him.

Two-Bit grinned and held up his bottle of root beer. "Not for me, thanks. I ain't had a drink in six years and three months."

"Two-Bit, that's terrific," Pony said. Two-Bit's frequent brushes with petty theft and his love of liquor had lasted well into his thirties and all four Curtises harbored a secret fear they'd read about his accidental death one day.

"I go to the program," Two-Bit said. "Makes me a better dad."

"Dad? You've got kids?" Cinnamon asked, fishing in her purse for photos of Johnny and Sarah. "How many? How old?"

Three, as it turned out. Two-Bit's marriage had not survived his alcoholism, but sobriety had done wonders for the relationship with his sons D.J. and Kevin and his daughter Melissa. They swapped pictures and stories about their kids and were about to begin stories about who worked where doing what, when the band swung into, "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." Two-Bit took Cinnamon's hand, looking to Clint. "Mind if I borrow your wife?"

"Just bring her back," Clint said, amused, and Two-Bit whirled Cinnamon onto the dance floor.

He took a deep swallow of his Budweiser and said to Pony, "That man's a nut."

"You sent your wife off with him, who's the nut?" Pony returned.

"True enough," Clint said amiably, toasting Pony with his bottle.

"Pony, honey, dance with me," Michelle said.

"To _this?_"

"You haven't danced with me in public since our wedding," she scolded.

"There's a reason for that, Shelly," he returned. "It's because I suck."

Michelle opened her mouth to argue, then her eyes glided past Pony. "Fine. Then I'll go dance with _that_ guy."

And a minute later, she was on the floor with Sodapop, whom she'd ambushed as he came in the door.

Clint and Ponyboy watched their wives dancing and Pony said abruptly to Clint, "You're good for my sister."

"Because I let her dance with Two-Bit? Shit, I don't let Cinnamon do anything. She's one independent lady."

"You let her name Johnny," Pony pointed out. "I'll never forget how she called up and said, 'Pony, it's a boy, and his name is John Darrel, for Dad and Darry and Johnny.' And I was thinking, man, I wouldn't be so keen on my wife naming my first-born son after her first love."

"He's dead, Pony," Clinton said simply. "He wins. And it meant the world to Cinnamon. How could I say no?"

There was no malice or sarcasm in his voice. He was simply stating a fact.

"Besides, he sounds like he was a good guy," Clint said. "You name your kid after a good guy, that's cool."

On the dance floor, the music had slowed down, and Cinnamon and Two-Bit were doing a sort of waltz.

"You been on my list," Two-Bit said. "You and Pony both. Bet that's why I ran into you."

"What list?"

"My amends list."

"Ah." As a nurse, Cinnamon sometimes recommended Alcoholics Anonymous to her patients and had a passing knowledge of how the program worked. "Where you apologize for stuff you did, that part?"

"Yup."

"What in the world do you have to apologize to me for?" Cinnamon said.

Two-Bit smiled at her. "For the night Johnny died."

Cinnamon's mouth fell open.

"I know you remember, Cinny," Two-Bit said gently. "I didn't handle that whole thing very well."

_Ponyboy stumbled into the house, battered and dazed. The rest of the boys had been home for quite a while and Darry was just starting to worry. _

"_Where have you been?" Darry demanded, and then, seeing the sick look on Pony's face, amended gently, "Ponyboy, what's the matter?" _

"_Johnny … he's dead. We told him about beatin' the Socs and … I don't know, he just died." _

_Cinnamon was sitting on the arm of the sofa, painting iodine on Two-Bit's busted knuckles, ready to wrap them up. She looked up sharply. "Ponyboy, you shut your mouth." _

"_Dally's gone, he couldn't take it --"_

"_Liar!" Cinnamon screeched, jumping to her feet. The iodine fell to the floor and shattered as she advanced on her brother. "Shut your mouth!"_

_Her hands were raised, as if to push Ponyboy, and Two-Bit grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back onto the sofa. She struggled, still yelling at Ponyboy, who was starting to shake. "Liar! I hate you! Why are you such a liar?" Pony could do nothing but back away from his hysterical sister, who was trying mightily to get away from Two-Bit. Two-Bit grabbed her and shook her hard, then slapped her cheek. The sound seemed incredibly loud. _

"_Jesus Christ, Cinnamon, shut up," he said coldly. "You ain't gonna make him undead by hollerin' like that." _

He'd always thought Darry would have busted his ass good if the phone hadn't rung then. Then, in the aftermath, the incident went out of everyone's head.

"I was half-drunk, beat up, and – and I couldn't believe Johnny was dead," Two-Bit said now. "But that was the worst possible thing to say, and I never should have hit you."

"It's ancient history," Cinnamon said quickly. "It's not --"

"Can I finish?" Two-Bit interrupted quietly. "I won't if it's making you upset."

Cinnamon hesitated, then nodded.

"That Saturday, after y'all came back from Windrixville, we went looking for you to come with us to the hospital," he said. "We didn't know you were already there until we got there ourselves. And I saw you sitting there next to Johnny, and bang, I knew. It was like someone had painted a big sign on the wall, that y'all were together. So when I hit you and told you to shut up ... it was because my head was hurting and I couldn't think, and I knew that would hush you. I wasn't trying to make you feel better. I even knew it would hurt you, but everything was all about me then." He looked her directly. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I never ratted out that Pony was sick before the rumble."

"That wouldn't have made a bit of difference," Cinnamon said.

"Maybe not, but I'm sorry all the same."

The music stopped. Dancers walked off of the dance floor, but Cinnamon and Two-Bit stood in the middle, hugging.

* * *

It took four games of Candyland, watching "Shark Tale" for the sixth time, and two games of Clue before Sarah, Johnny and Danny were all sleep. Laura got them settled in her room before returning to her uncle. Darry was in his bed, leaning over, trying to see underneath.

"Hey, you need anything?" she asked softly.

"Colonel Mustard," Darry answered. "I don't know where he got to."

Laura rummaged her hands through the sheets and finally came up with the game piece under the extra pillow. If she counted up all the hours, she'd probably spent days of her childhood playing board games and cards with her father and uncle. Darry taught her math and poker at the same time, and by the time she was six, she could play a mean five-card stud.

Darry caught the pensive look on Laura's face. "What is it, honey?" he asked gently.

"Nothing, really. I just love you, Uncle Darry," she said, stacking the pieces in the box. "I wish I could do something to help you."

Darry smiled at her. "Actually, little one, there is something you can do." He patted the bed. "Come sit down with me and let me ask you a favor."


	11. Puzzle Pieces

**Chapter 11: Puzzle Pieces**

The next few weeks faded into a routine that became familiar, if not entirely comfortable. Clinton came back every weekend, as promised, not complaining for an instant. Pony found he couldn't write a word but his editors at _Rolling Stone_ were kind and understanding and told him they'd give him some ink whenever he felt up to it. Steve took over most of the responsibilities at the gas station. They were all getting by.

Darry had mostly stopped getting out of bed a couple of days ago. With no chemo or radiation to stave off the cancer, he was growing noticeably weaker. He refused to let Soda set up the hospital bed and was loathe to have Cinnamon help him with his personal care. She was a nurse, and she was trained and professional, but she was also his little sister. So Cinnamon sat down at the kitchen table one Saturday night and, using her husband as a clothed model, gave Soda and Pony a crash course in how to care for Darry in the coming days. Soda took notes. Pony stared out the window.

Pony spent most of his time at Darry's side. Sometimes they played poker and sometimes they just sat. Sometimes Pony read while Darry slept. He was doing all he could to will his brother back to the land of the living and was stubbornly ignoring the fact that it wasn't working.

"Pony." Cinnamon handed him a cup of coffee. "C'mon, go stretch your legs. Or better yet, pour that poison down the sink and take a nap."

"I'm not tired."

"You're exhausted," Sodapop contradicted him from the doorway. Michelle and Clinton wandered in behind him.

Soda was right. Pony wasn't getting much sleep, and the little he got was broken up by bad dreams and frequent waking. Two nights before, he'd woken up in the living room, and he'd never sleepwalked before.

"You can scoot in here," Darry said, making Pony and Cinnamon both jump.

"I thought you were asleep," Pony said.

"I know. But when I keep my eyes closed, I learn very interesting things. Soda?"

"I'm here."

"Laura likes a boy named Dusty."

Soda rolled his eyes. "Dusty," he scoffed. "What the hell kind of a name is Dusty?"

"Pot? Kettle. Nice to meet you," Michelle mumbled.

Darry looked at Ponyboy. "Stretch out, if'n you want to. You won't bother me."

Pony smiled at him. "No, I'm okay."

Cinnamon stood behind Pony's chair and stroked his hair softly. Watching him keep vigil over his big brother was like a flashback, with the players reversed. "This reminds me a little of when you were sick," she murmured.

Ponyboy didn't have to ask "which time?" He'd had his share of colds and flus and once a burger from the Dingo gave him food poisoning, but the time he was "sick" referred to the few days after the rumble, after Johnny and Dally died, when he fought a fever and delirium. "I s'pose," he said. He looked over at Soda, then at Darry and then at Cinnamon. And for the rest of his life, Pony would wonder what made him say to her, "Tell me what happened."

"What happened when?"

"Then. There's whole chunks I don't remember."

Cinnamon took a deep swallow of coffee. "Why would you want to go through that?"

"Because I'm askin'," Pony said. "Because you never told me, not really."

After a minute, it was Soda who answered. "You remember Dal – you remember what happened in the park?" he said.

"Yeah. Then I woke up and it was like three days later."

"The cops were already there when you fainted, so they called for the ambulance and took us over to Saint Frank's," Soda said. "You had a fever of 104. I remember thinking no one could be that hot and get better. I thought your brain must be fryin' in your head. And you weren't making any sense. You were callin' for us, and we were right there with you. You were calling for Johnny, and for Mom and Dad."

It had been terrifying, Pony moaning, "Soda, Sodapop" and when Soda took his hand, soothing him, Pony pushed him away, trying to shout "Don't touch me! I want my brother! Where's my brother?"

"Why'd they let me go home?" Pony asked.

"I signed you out," Darry said. "I figured if all we could do was let you rest and try to bring your fever down, we could do that here. And I thought you'd like it better in your own bed. That's all. We stayed with you and tried to get your fever down. Tried to make you drink, eat something. I made you mushroom soup and you splashed it all over me, yelling you didn't like baloney. Soda and Cinnamon laid right beside you most of the time. And finally the fever broke, and you woke up." He shifted, grimacing.

"Are you okay?" Pony asked instantly.

"Oh, yeah," Darry said reassuringly. "I was in too many fights, Ponyboy. This ain't nothing."

"I used to hate that," Cinnamon said. "When y'all would fight, come home all banged up. And rumbles were the worst. I'd sit here with bandages all ready and ice in the freezer and wonder how many brothers would come back. Then I'd patch everyone up. No wonder I became a nurse."

Her brothers – not to mention the rest of the gang – would not have considered letting her around any sort of a fight. Some of the girls, like Sylvia or Angela Shepherd, could have held their own and pounded on each other, but Cinnamon, while not exactly afraid of fights, hated them. She thought they were stupid. She had always reminded Pony of Cherry Valance in that way, and he'd thought more than once that if Cherry and Cinnamon had led the Greasers and Socs, there'd be no tension.

Pony drew a deep breath. "Cinny?"

"Hmm?"

"How'd you get to the fountain?"

She looked at him sharply. "What?"

"You weren't there went I went in, but I swear I heard you yelling," Pony said. "When I woke up, I had my head in your lap. How'd you get there?"

Cinnamon paced the room, laughing nervously. "Do we have to talk about this? Why are we talking about this?" She glanced over at Darry. "Especially now."

There was thick, heavy, uncomfortable silence, finally broken by Michelle's quiet logic. "Because it's like a puzzle," she said. "Because it needs to fit together so y'all can put it away. Y'all have a different bit."

"I'm past it," Cinnamon said.

"No, you're in Missouri," Michelle corrected. "And we're in Salt Lake City."

Cinnamon's eyes narrowed. "You hush. What do you know?"

"I know Pony has wanted to ask you that question for longer than I've known him," Michelle said. "And I know it probably took everything he had inside him to get that out of his mouth."

Pony's face went red but he didn't deny it. Cinnamon didn't answer.

"Good Lord," Michelle said. "You four are the stubbornest lot I've ever seen. And I've never seen love like this, either. It's so … it's so _there._ It's pure. And I suppose you don't analyze it all to death, because what would be the point? What's the need? It just is. It is what is it is, and it's a wonderful thing. But now -- " Michelle looked pointedly at Darry "-- if there's anything you want to say, or anything you'd like to know, it seems like now's the time."

Pony looked at his sister and waited patiently. After a minute, she began to speak.

"I went after you after Darry hit you," she began. "I checked the lot, Johnny's, I even went by Two-Bit's, and then I was just walking. I was close enough to the park to hear the ruckus and I thought I heard Johnny. When I got there, they were dunking you and I lost my head. There were five of them, and one of them was soaking wet, like you'd thrown him into the fountain with you. They were hollering and swearing at you and they didn't see me. I jumped on the guy holding you under and he threw me off. I mean, sure he did. What did I weigh then, 110 pounds?"

She crossed the room, looking out the window. "Hey, that'd be nice, Michelle, huh? Weigh 110 pounds again, like high school?"

"Sure would," Michelle said quietly.

Cinnamon turned and looked at Clint. "Baby, I never told you this story."

"I know," he said calmly. "Go on. Tell your brothers."

She shifted her gaze to Pony. "One of them – not Bob Sheldon, and not that Randy, I never knew his name – picked me up and threw me into the roundabout. He knocked the wind right out of me. And he … he put his hands on me. All over me. Tried to undo my jeans and he ripped my sweater. Darry's sweater, the old gray one that Mom knitted him in high school." She shuddered. "And I was screaming for someone to help. I was hollering for Soda and for Darry, like they could hear me, because I knew they could make it all right. Hell, I was even hoping the cops would show up. I remember thinking I'd rather have you alive in an orphanage than dead in the park."

"'They're drowning my brother,'" Pony said slowly. He'd never stopped to think about it long enough to realize he remembered. "That's what you were yelling. 'They're drowning my brother.' And I couldn't figure out how you got there. I thought I was dreaming."

"One of them was trying to cover my mouth and shut me up, and I was biting him and trying to get away, and the next thing I knew, they were gone. Johnny was pulling you out of the fountain and it wasn't until I went over to help him that I saw the Soc lying there. Johnny handed you to me and kind of slid onto the ground. I sat with you and tried to wake you up and Johnny started crying that he'd killed that boy." Her eyes glistened. "And I didn't care. All I cared was that I was holding you and I could see you breathing."

"We stayed up the rest of the night." Soda picked up the story. "Darry and me. We went back and forth about calling the police or not, and then the cops found the body. Everyone knew what happened, that Soc girl, what was her name?"

"Cherry," Pony said distantly. "Cherry Valance."

"Yeah, Cherry. She told them everything she knew. Randy told the truth, too, so we knew what happened, and that y'all hadn't been killed. But we didn't know where you were. I went to Dally, I figured he'd know, but he denied it. I found my sweatshirt, the one Pony'd been wearing, and he still denied it." Soda shook his head. "Dally could keep his mouth shut good. We asked around and looked everywhere we could think of, and the cops were looking, too, but none of us thought to look on Jay Mountain."

A small smile came to Pony's face. "We got lost. I told a guy I was playing Army and he told me where to go."

Darry was looking at Cinnamon. "Them Socs, they didn't …"

She looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, "No. They scared me, but no." She sighed. "I should have come back. I've thought of this a million times, that if I had come back to get you and Soda, none of it would have happened. But all I could think was that Ponyboy couldn't breathe."

Soda made a small noise that could have been anything from a laugh to half a sob. "Yeah? I should have gone after you. I've thought of _that_ a million times. Darry wanted to, but we thought Pony'd run from him, and I said Pony needed time to simmer down and you'd bring him back with you. So I let you go alone – I'm your big brother, and I let you go alone." He paused. "When the cops called after the fire, all they said was there were some 'life-threatening injuries.' They didn't say what, or who. All the way to the hospital, I kept thinking, 'if I'd gone right off the porch, I might have caught Pony before he got to the corner.'"

"No," Pony said quietly. "I could outrun you then." He looked at Darry and was started to see tears standing in the older man's eyes. "What? Are you in pain? What is it?"

"I should never have hit you," Darry said hoarsely.

"No."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know, Darry."

"I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean …" Darry's voice trailed off. He sounded exactly like Pony had that long-ago night, when his response had been shrill and sarcastic. _I didn't mean to! I can't think! I forgot!_

"Can you forgive me?" Darry whispered.

"Darry." Pony smiled at him lovingly. "I get it. I do. I do now, at least. I'm 35 years old, and I only have one, and Michelle does most of it, and sometimes I still can't get a handle on it. And I'm not worried about bills and Socs and orphanages."

"You ain't never hit your boy," Darry said. He didn't even have to ask. He knew.

"No," Pony said. "But I've been mad enough to. And he's only three. He's not fourteen, running wild in the middle of the night, scaring me to death. Part of it is my fault – I should have come home right after the movie."

"Why do things happen?" Cinnamon asked. She wasn't talking to anyone in particular and no one answered. No one knew. The best anyone could do was think of Darry's acceptance of his fate: It is what it is. It just was what it was. Looking at her husband, her beloved brothers, and Ponyboy's wife, who'd become her sister in every good way, Cinnamon thought that might be enough.


	12. Letting Go

**Chapter 12: Letting Go**

On Wednesday morning, Darry had been asleep for three days. Clinton hadn't returned to Missouri on Sunday night and Ponyboy's bedside vigil had turned into all of them taking turns in a quiet waiting. The hospice nurses had delicately come and gone and all of Darry's family tiptoed in and out. Soda dozed next to him, one hand lightly resting on Darry's chest, so if his brother stopped breathing, Soda would know.

Laura leaned over to whisper to her father.

"Daddy. I don't think I can be here. I don't want to see … when …" Her voice trailed off.

Soda sat up and hugged her tightly. "It's all right, sweetheart," he said. "You do what you need to do."

"Don't ever do this to me, Daddy," Laura said tearfully.

"I won't, for a long time," Soda said. "Not if I can help it."

She walked around the bed and stood next to her uncle for a long time, then leaned over and whispered something in his ear, something about "promise" and "right after." Then she kissed his cheek and said clearly, "I love you, Uncle Darry. Keep an eye on me."

Michelle and Pony were standing at the foot of the bed. She pulled out of his embrace and said, "I'm going to go too. I'll keep the little ones occupied."

"Don't leave," Pony said, his voice trembling.

"You're not alone, baby." Michelle kissed him, then went to kiss Darry. "Thank you for raising me such a fine husband, Darry," she said. "I'll miss you."

Clint was next. "Shelly's right. This is for y'all." He stood by his brother-in-law as if he didn't know what to do, then said quietly, "Yeah, what Shelly said." He ran his hand over Darry's hair and left so quickly that no one except Cinnamon, coming back into the bedroom, saw he was crying.

Once there had been six. Then there were four, the four who had been together through the most horrible and wonderful times. They'd buried their parents and two dear friends and lived through poverty and fear and street fights. But they had also lived through four graduations, two from high school, two from college, the birth of four children and too many pillow fights and tickle fests and sunsets and star watchings to count. Michelle had been right – the love and loyalty the four of them shared defied description and made them strong. Strong enough, even, to be three instead.

"How long do you think?" Soda said.

Cinnamon laid her fingers on Darry's wrist, taking his pulse. It was weak and slow. "Not so long, I don't think. It's hard to say. Sometimes they wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For someone to come, for someone to go," Cinnamon said. "Sometimes, for someone to tell them it's okay." She looked at her oldest brother. He was her sibling and her father and her dear friend, all together, and even though she wasn't sure she could bear the pain, she bent to his face.

"Darry? If you see Mom and Dad, you should go to them." She stroked his hair, her lips at his cheek. "Won't that be nice, seeing Mom and Dad? We're okay, Darry. We are. You done real good. Mom and Dad'll be so proud. We're all here, me and Soda and Ponyboy. We love you. You can go now. It's okay."

Ponyboy couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe. But Soda slid closer to Darry on the bed, lacing his fingers through his brother's. "Do you think he's in pain?"

"No. He's got a lot of morphine in him, Soda. And your body shuts down. He's all right."

"Can he hear us?"

"I believe he can," Cinnamon answered, in the same way someone might resolutely declare their belief in God."

Soda leaned over Darry. "Darry, man, I'm going to miss you." Tears were dripping off his nose onto Darry's chest but his voice was surprisingly steady. "I don't want you to go. But if you have to go, it's okay. We'll be okay, I promise. Say … say hey to Johnny for us."

Without looking, Cinnamon stretched her hand out. And without a word, Pony took it.

_Sometimes you don't get to pick your debt. Sometimes, you just pay it when it comes due. _

Pony walked around his sister and after a long, sniffling silence, kissed Darry's cheek tenderly. "You asked me to forgive you," he whispered hoarsely. "There's nothing to forgive. We're square. We'll stay right here. I love you, Darry. I really, really do. Thank you for taking such good care of us. You go on, now."

And twelve minutes later, his brothers and sister holding his hands and stroking his hair, Darry went.

* * *

**_From the Tulsa World Daily Newspaper, Oct. 20, 2005_**

**TULSA** – Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr., 41, of 3580 B Street, died Wednesday at home after a brief illness. He was the beloved brother of Sodapop P. Curtis of Tulsa, Cinnamon M. Rockwell of Kansas City, Mo. and Ponyboy M. Curtis of Salt Lake City, Utah. He is also survived by two nieces, Laura M. Curtis of Tulsa and Sarah M. Rockwell of Kansas City and two nephews, John D. Rockwell of Kansas City and Daniel B. Curtis of Salt Lake City. He was the son of the late Darrel S. Curtis Sr. and Mary (Dana) Curtis, who both died in 1985. Mr. Curtis was a 1982 graduate of Tulsa South High School, where he was the captain of the state-championship football team. He was a former employee of Depther Roofing and lived in Tulsa his whole life.

A graveside service will held on Friday, Oct. 21 at 10 a.m. at Green Acres Memorial Gardens. Visiting hours will be held on Thursday, Oct. 20, from 6 to 9 p.m. at Fitzgerald Funeral Services, 1402 Boulder Ave., Tulsa. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society or the Darrel S. Curtis Jr. Memorial Scholarship Fund in care of Tulsa South High School.


	13. We End, We Begin

**Chapter 13: We End, We Begin**

Wakes aren't about the deceased. They are about the living. And so it was that Darry's wake, even though the man had kept largely to himself, held a steady stream of visitors. Old customers of both Darry's and Soda's. Most of Laura's high school class. Neighbors. Old teachers. Paul Holden, who had been both Darry's teammate and enemy. Tim Shepherd, the only Shepherd sibling left alive, looking like a tough old hood in scuffed boots and a dirty leather jacket. He hugged Soda with one awkward arm, knowing the pain of losing a brother, before vanishing into the night. Cherry Valance came in timidly, not sure if she'd be welcome, but feeling strongly she had to pay her respects. Steve Randle closed the station and sat in the back for the whole wake, not talking much, just being there, bringing Laura and Cinnamon occasional paper cups of water. Two-Bit was there, of course, somehow looking at home in his gray suit, with his mother, who now walked with a cane. Both Clint and Michelle's parents came and after the private family viewing, took the littler children back to their hotel.

Ponyboy had snuck out the side door to get some air. He desperately wished he still smoked. He hadn't lived at home for more than two-month stretches since he'd been 20, but still, knowing that Darry was not on the other end of a telephone line or airplane route would take a lot of getting used to.

"How are you doing?" a quiet voice asked.

He turned to Cherry. "It's been a right shitty two months," he said bluntly. He'd been pleasantly surprised to see her waiting patiently in the receiving line. They hadn't kept in touch after the rumble. Truth be told, they hadn't kept in touch when Pony still lived in Tulsa, even though they spent another two years in the same high school.

"My husband, Drake – he had Hodgkins Disease," Cherry said. "It's a filthy, filthy thing."

"That's a fact," Pony agreed.

They stood in silence for a moment.

"Did Drake die?" Pony asked finally.

"Yes. Two years ago."

"Does it get better?"

"It does," Cherry said. "I promise."

"That's good," Ponyboy said, his eyes filling with tears for the at least the tenth time that day, "because feeling like this pretty well sucks."

Cherry handed him a tissue and waited quietly while he composed himself.

"What've you been up to?" he asked finally.

"Twenty years in ten seconds, huh?" she smiled. "Let's see. I mostly kept the house and the kids. I did some volunteer work at the hospital and then after Drake got sick I got really involved with the children's cancer ward. I work there now, as an activities coordinator. I keep the little ones busy, those who are well enough to play."

"That's nice, Cherry," Ponyboy said sincerely.

"And you?" She grinned at him. "_Rolling Stone_, huh?"

Pony stared at her. "You've read me?" he said stupidly.

"Sure. I happened across the byline one day, and I was sure it was you. I mean, there can't be many Ponyboy Curtises," she said. "Besides, your essays sound like you. Since then, I've looked for you. I really liked your interview with Julian and Sean Lennon."

Pony was absurdly touched.

"I have to get home," Cherry said. "My kids are alone. But I wanted to come and tell you how sorry I was to hear about Darry. Really, really, sorry. I always admired how hard he worked to keep you all together."

"Me, too," Pony said. As Cherry touched his sleeve then turned away, he said, "hey, you know what?"

"What?"

"Sunsets in Utah are beautiful."

She smiled warmly at him. "I bet. They're still pretty gorgeous here, too."

* * *

It was almost 8:30 and there had been no new visitors for nearly 10 minutes. Soda, Cinnamon and Two-Bit were sitting in chairs near the front of the room. Darry's coffin was closed, but the room was littered with collages that his nieces and nephews had made, from his days on the PeeWee football time to the previous Christmas. It was Darry as he had lived, not as he had died.

Two-Bit started.

"What?" Soda said.

"Nothing," he said evasively, looking out the window onto the small porch. "I'll be right back."

Cinnamon stretched. "I'm going to get some air and see where Ponyboy got to. You need anything?"

Soda shook his head.

"I'll keep an eye open and come back in if more people come."

"Cinny, this is … it's …" Soda struggled to find the right words, and finally said, "I don't want this when I go. Just cremate me and scatter the ashes behind the station."

"Let's hope we have a long time to figure that out," Cinnamon said gently. She kissed the top of Soda's head and went outside. Two-Bit was deep in conversation with the woman he'd spied through the window. They obviously knew one another. Cinnamon glanced their way just as Two-Bit moved to one side and, for the first time, she got a good look at her.

Her mouth fell open.

"Emily?" she whispered.

Two-Bit and Emily turned and all the color drained away from Emily's face. "It's Cinnamon, isn't it?" she said. "I'm so sorry – I – I'll go. I shouldn't have come. I saw Darry's obituary and I wanted to come pay my respects and … Glory be, this was a bad idea. I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I really didn't, especially not today. And I'm sorry about your brother. I remember him as a very nice man."

"Breathe, Emmy, she ain't gonna bite you," Two-Bit said mildly.

"You know her?" Cinnamon said to Two-Bit.

He hesitated, then Emily nudged him, nodding.

"From AA," Two-Bit said. "She's one of my sponsees. She's been sober almost a year."

"And you didn't tell Soda?"

"We don't use last names, not that I would have remembered hers," Two-Bit said. "I didn't know who she was until this week."

"I showed him the obituary," Emily said. "I told him that Darry was someone I knew long ago, and that this niece of his, this Laura M. Curtis, was my daughter." She laughed a little. "The look on his face was priceless."

"Did you see her?" Cinnamon asked.

Emily's eyes filled with tears. "That must be her, right?" She gestured toward the window. Laura, in a navy blue skirt and flowered blouse, was sitting next to Soda. "She's beautiful. And Sodapop looks exactly the same."

"She has your eyes," Cinnamon said, and suddenly remembered those eyes, her niece's eyes, full of tears.

_Didn't … why didn't she want me? _

Cinnamon pointed a stern finger at Two-Bit. "You promise me she's sober? You promise?"

"On Johnny's name," Two-Bit said.

"Wait here."

Two-Bit and Emily watched, astonished, as Cinnamon went back into the funeral home. As they peeked through the window, they saw her kneel in front of Soda and Laura, speaking to Soda earnestly. Laura's head whipped toward them and Emily stepped back out of sight.

"Oh, Jesus, Keith, what was I thinking?" Emily moaned. "This was such a bad idea."

"Maybe. But it's done," Two-Bit said. "All that stuff they say in the meetings, about God doesn't bring you along to drop you and all that, and God has perfect timing -- all that is true." He paused. "And you know you have some explainin' to do to her, don't you?"

"Jesus," Emily said again as Cinnamon came back with Soda and Laura. There was a long, yearning look. Laura was holding Soda's hand like a little girl and she had started to cry.

"We need to catch up, set some rules," Soda said evenly.

"That's all?" Emily stammered, too shocked to try to censor her thoughts.

"I just didn't want her to have a drunk mother," Soda said. "Johnny had a drunk mother. I was never going to do that to my kid."

"I'm not drunk," Emily whispered, unable to take her eyes off Laura.

"I see that. If you stay not drunk, we can talk." Soda sighed. "God almighty, Emily. If you had shown up two weeks ago, I'd have probably thrown you off the property. But I guess life is too short." He gave Laura a gentle push. "This beautiful, wonderful child is my Laura. Our Laura. Laura, darlin', this is your mother."


	14. A Promise to Keep

**Chapter 14: A Promise to Keep**

The family returned from Darry's funeral around noon -- Sodapop, Cinnamon and Ponyboy were all emotionally and physically exhausted. Soda had been actually swaying on his feet at the cemetery. Twenty minutes after coming into the house, they were all asleep, Pony and Soda crashing on the same bed, as they had slept when they were boys.

It was almost three o'clock when Cinnamon woke to the smell of coffee. She wandered into the kitchen to find her brothers sitting at the table. "Where is everyone?" she yawned, pouring herself a cup.

"Michelle and Danny went off somewhere with Shelly's parents," Pony answered. "And Clinton and his parents took Johnny and Sarah to the movies. Laura's around somewhere."

"How long have y'all been awake?" she asked. "You're gonna need forever to catch up, Pony."

Pony smiled. He'd slept surprisingly well, and even only two hours later, felt more refreshed than he had in two weeks. "Soda snores," he said, poking his brother. "And he takes over the whole bed. No wonder he's never been married, who'd put up with that?"

"Me? I don't know how your wife gets any sleep at all," Soda returned indignantly.

Laura peeked into the kitchen, saw the three of them sitting there, and disappeared into Darry's room. She came back with a metal box and a manila envelope and she set the box in the center of the table. She cleared her throat.

"I told Uncle Darry I'd give this to you," she said. She tapped the metal box. "He told me there were papers in here that y'all would need, insurance policies and bankbooks and stuff. And his will is on top."

"Darry had a will?" Ponyboy said, surprised.

"He always had one, he said. Even when you and Dad and Aunt Cinnamon were kids – he said he wanted to be sure everything was all spelled out if anything happened to him."

Ponyboy pulled it out of the box. There was a cover sheet on top, with several dates, indicating the many times the will had been changed. "God, he was fickle," Pony said.

Cinnamon leaned over his shoulder. "No, no, look at them." She pointed. "That's Laura's birthday. And my wedding date. Johnny's birthday. Your wedding. Sarah's birthday. Danny's birthday. He changed it every time the family got bigger."

Pony picked up the cover sheet and scanned the first page. Soda looked over at him. "I hope he made Cinnamon in charge," he said. "I know I'm next oldest, but she's smarter than me."

"No." Pony looked up, stunned. "It's Two-Bit."

"Mathews?" Soda and Cinnamon gasped together.

"You know another Two-Bit?" Pony said, annoyed.

"Why in the world would he ask Two-Bit?" Soda mused. "I mean, I get not asking me, but why not one of you?"

"So y'all wouldn't fight," Laura said.

"What?" Pony gasped.

"He couldn't think we'd fight," Cinnamon said in a small voice. "What's there to fight over, anyway?"

When their parents had died, there had been precious little, and it had been a moot point, since they all lived in the same house together for another four years. When first Cinnamon, then Pony, moved out, they took little pieces of their parents with them, with their brothers' blessings. The only real items of value were their parents' wedding rings; Mary's was put away for Laura and Darrel Sr.'s was on Ponyboy's left hand.

"Wait'll you see," Laura said. She looked almost excited, like it was Christmas morning. "He didn't think you'd be greedy but he was afraid you'd decide to change it among yourselves – like, give Aunt Cinny more because she's got two kids instead of one, or just let Dad keep everything, because we live here, like that. He thought you'd fight the other way, and he had very specific ideas on what he wanted to do with his money."

"How do you know that?" Soda asked.

Laura grinned. "Because he said I could be his financial advisor. You'll be surprised at what I know." She dug into the box and set three blue bankbooks on the table in front of her. "This is college money. This is Johnny and Sarah's. This is Danny's. And this one is mine. I'm allowed to use it for tuition and room and board and college and college-related things. Computers and books count but clothes and midnight pizza don't. And I'm allowed one spring break trip as long as I'm pulling at least a B. If I don't go to college, I have to give it to Uncle Darry's scholarship fund. Same rules for the little kids."

The adults were looking at her in shock. Pony slid Danny's bankbook out of the plastic cover and looked at the balance. "Holy shit," he said before he could stop himself. "How the hell did he do this?"

"He invested," Laura said. "He was good at it. He probably could have been a broker. He told me it was all figurin' and strategy, like football. He did it all on-line – he wrote down all the passwords for you. And some advice." She chuckled affectionately. "Control freak."

"On line?" Soda asked. Both Cinnamon and Ponyboy were fairly computer savvy, but Soda, though he'd bought a system for Laura to help her with her schoolwork, could barely turn one on. "I thought he was just playin' cards on there."

Ponyboy set the bankbook aside and pulled out another set of papers. "The house is paid off," he said in wonder. "It's been paid off for four years. Soda, did you know that?"

"No, I did not," Soda said, an edge creeping into his voice. "And that's damn funny since I kept giving him mortgage money."

Darry had refinanced the house right after Ponyboy graduated high school and made himself and Soda co-owners. Soda had signed the papers, noted to himself it'd be paid off sometime after Laura finished college, and continued to give Darry half every month. He'd tried to give more, arguing that he and Laura were two people to Darry's one. When Ponyboy and Cinnamon were established in jobs out of college, they both tried to give Darry money, a sort of a payback on their student expenses. He refused to take any of it.

"There should be a new deed," Laura said quietly.

Pony fished through the papers and found it. The house was left to the three of them equally. Soda and Laura were to live in it for as long as they liked, and when they wanted to sell it, the profits were to be split three ways. The mortgage money that Soda had been paying the last four years had been deposited into a separate account for him. It contained almost $30,000.

"Good Lord," Soda said weakly.

"Uncle Darry said you couldn't save worth a damn," Laura said. "And don't holler at me. I'm not swearing. I'm quoting."

"No, Uncle Darry was right." Soda drew a deep breath. "Glory be." He grinned at Pony and Cinnamon. "Y'all wanna be slumlords?"

"No, we can't do that," Cinnamon said. "That's not fair."

"Yes, it's fair." Soda held up the bankbook. "I think we should split this."

"No, that's your money," Pony said, "but the house – Cinnamon's right about that. We'll call the bank and figure out how to change that. The house should be yours. You've lived here your whole life – and it's Laura's home, too. "

He handed the deed to Sodapop and Laura leaned over and snatched the paper out of her father's hands.

"Laura Mary!" Soda scolded. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Uncle Darry said you'd do this and he said if you started I should make you quit until you were reasonable. That's exactly what he said, reasonable. He said it was his money and he could do what he wanted with it and for you all to mind your business." She glared at her father. "This is why he made Two-Bit the executor. He said he'd have picked me but I wasn't 18 yet." She put the deed back in the box. "Don't make me lock this up."

After a moment of astounded silence Soda burst out laughing. "All right," he said amiably. "What all else to you have to show us?"

There was a receipt from the funeral home indicating that the expenses had been pre-paid. There were three life insurance policies, each naming one of his siblings as beneficiary. There were also some investment accounts and a modest stock portfolio. Everything split carefully, evenly, three ways. When all was said and done, Darrel Curtis Jr. had been just about a millionaire. He'd invested well and saved wisely and left it for those he loved most.

There was stunned silence around the table. Cinnamon and Pony had gone into separate fits of weeping at the thought that Darry was still taking care of them, and doing it well, as their parents would have wanted.

"There's one more thing." Laura opened the manila envelope she held on her lap and tipped it upside down.

Nine folded notes spilled out, the names clearly visible_: Ponyboy. Soda. Cinnamon Marie. Laura. Johnny and Sarah. Michelle. Clinton. Danny (for Pony and Michelle. Two-Bit._ Some of them were in Laura's writing.

"He dictated, when he couldn't hold the pen," she explained. "But he wouldn't let me write my own. He made me promise not to tell you until after – well, until today. I didn't even peek at mine." She pulled it out of the pile, caressing it. "But I really wanted to."

"I'm a little worried you're this sneaky," Soda said faintly.

"Don't be, Daddy," she answered. "It was for a good cause."


	15. Letters from Heaven

_A/N: Thanks again, many many many times over for your encouragement. I had no idea the Hairbo Duo was from SLC – I picked it kind of randomly. I couldn't picture Pony staying in Tulsa and Salt Lake seemed like a place he'd like, full of mountains and sunsets and nature. And Mikal Gilmore, who is a kick-ass writer for "Rolling Stone," is from Utah. So there you go. I did do a couple of subtle things on purpose – like both Laura and Sarah have the middle name Mary, which is what I named Mrs. Curtis, and Darry saving their dad's Social Security checks and splitting the money three ways, kind of makes his mad saving make senes. _

_I thought of writing all the letters, but I thought it was better to keep most of it private, between Darry and his siblings. He was a pretty private kind of guy. This is the last chapter, then the epilogue. And then onto my next idea. This site is going to be the death of me. _

_-- Sox_

* * *

**Chapter 15: Letters from Heaven**

"Dad?" Laura came into Soda's room and flopped on the bed beside him. "I need to talk to you."

"Shoot."

"I need to talk to you about -- about Emily. Mom. Glory, about the lady who got pregnant and had me."

"Your mother, Laura," Soda said patiently. He had always referred to Emily as such – "your mother" – because it was true; Laura had come out of Emily's body. But he'd never called her "Mom" or even "Mommy" when Laura was little; that title, he believed, had to be earned.

"She gave me her cell number."

"I know," Soda said. "She asked me first."

In the years that Emily had been gone, Soda had built up a strong dislike and a slow anger for her. There were moments – like when Laura first got her period, when she wanted to pierce her ears, when it was time to tell her about sex – that Soda had actually hated Emily. His disdain was two-fold; he was furious that he had to handle of this on his own, without the benefit of a woman's point of view, and he was irritated for Laura's sake that the closest she came to motherly advice was long-distance calls to Cinnamon. All these years, he had pictured Emily as she had been the last time he'd seen her, drunk and defiant, accusing Soda of forcing her to have "that little brat." Then she'd vanished. He'd rehearsed his speech over and over again, ready to tell her how selfish she was, how she didn't deserve to see Laura and would do so over his dead body. Then he saw her at Darry's wake, of all places. She was humble and respectful and took Laura's lead before she even tried to hug her.

The night before, unbeknownst to Laura, Soda had met Emily down at the local coffee shop to work out the particulars of Emily's seeing Laura. She was grateful for any contact Soda was willing to allow her and sincerely troubled she had not had the chance to thank Darry for picking up her slack. She gave Soda a brief update on the last 15 years and Soda found he was profoundly grateful she had kept her distance.

"It's so funny, Keith ended up being my sponsor, and here he's known Laura her whole life," she'd said. "I have to believe that means something."

Soda had to agree. They'd even hugged, not the hug of old lovers, precisely, but the careful hug of old friends willing to be better about being in touch.

Now he looked at his little girl, almost grown up, with her red-gold hair and startling blue eyes, with Darry's graceful height and Emily's slim waist, with Soda's good looks and Pony and Cinnamon's smarts. She was a Curtis, through and through, but she was also part of Emily.

_If Emily ever comes back, and she's okay, you should think about letting Laura see her, _Darry's letter had said in part. _Every little girl needs her mother and God knows, we've probably done enough damage. _

And Laura wasn't a baby any more.

"You can see her, Laura," Soda said. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"I didn't think you'd let me."

"The lady who left isn't the lady who came back," Soda said simply.

Laura nodded and to Soda's surprise, she started to cry. "I want to, but I don't want to want to," she sobbed. "She was never here, she left me – she left me and I was just a baby, and I still want to see her. What's the matter with me?"

"Sweetheart." Soda sat up and pulled Laura into his lap as if she were six instead of sixteen. "Nothing's the matter with you."

"I don't want to hurt you, Daddy."

"You're not," Soda said calmly, and he was surprised to find that was true. "It's not about me."

Laura was quiet for a minute, then said, "I really miss Uncle Darry."

Tears immediately sprang to Soda's eyes. He remembered the months after his parents had been killed, the slightest reminder sent him into a fit of weeping. He'd once hidden behind the gas station, trying to muffle sobs into his hands, because some guy had come in to buy the same brand of cigarettes his father had smoked.

"I miss him, too, Laura. We'll miss him forever. But we'll be all right."

"Are you sure?"

"When Grandma and Grandpa died, I thought that would be the end of the world," Soda said. "I was just your age. I thought I'd never be happy again. I couldn't imagine it. But, darlin', you have been my greatest joy. And we've been okay, all of us. Uncle Darry – this ain't nothing but a curve ball. And he'd say the same, you know he would. You can go on and be happy and live your life, and still love and miss him."

Laura stared. "Daddy, that was downright profound," she said.

Soda smiled fondly at her and tapped his pocket, where Darry's note lay. "Your uncle says I'm smarter than I give myself credit for," he said. "Maybe he's right."

* * *

"Darry had money."

"What do you mean?"

Clint and Cinnamon were packing up, preparing to go back to Missouri for good. As they sorted and folded a load of laundry, Cinnamon explained the particulars of Darry's estate to her flabbergasted husband. He'd already read his note and was happy to know Darry had held him in high regard and agreed he was a perfect match for Cinnamon.

Cinnamon's letter had been longer, full of memories, and love, and brotherly advice he wouldn't be there to dispense, including a whole paragraph on how she should treat Johnny and Sarah's future spouses, based on Darry's experiences with Clint and Michelle. And the PS: _Don't think about spending that money on anything that is not for the four of you. I am watching you, and I will know. _It was what he'd taken to saying when she was in high school, and then home summers from college, usually in reference to drinking and sex. "Don't you even think of sleeping with that boy, Cinnamon Marie," Darry would say, right in front of her date, as she wanted to sink into the floor. "I am watching you, and I will know." Any hope her boyfriends might have had immediately vanished.

"I'll miss being Darry's little sister," she said.

Clinton smiled. "I know. But you're still Soda's little sister."

"Oh, please. That's only true by the calendar. Do you know how many times I bailed his ass out of stupid stuff?"

Clint laughed. "Hey, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"All that money, why didn't he move?" When Cinnamon's eyes narrowed, he said quickly, "I'm not trying to be disrespectful, and I know the neighborhood is better now than it was when y'all were kids. But this place is smallish, and he'd grouse about all the little things that he could never repair – why didn't he just sell it?"

"Because it's Mom and Dad's house," Cinnamon said. "It's _home._"

And it was, indelibly marked by all of them. There was the stain on the living room hardwood where Cinnamon dropped the bottle of iodine when she heard Johnny had died. There was a line grooved into the wall in Pony and Soda's old room, behind where their bed had been, from the headboard banging the plaster during countless wrestling matches and pillow fights. There was a hole in the bathroom wall, behind the door, where Darry had flung it open too quickly. In her parents' old closet there was a small spot on the floor from a long-ago shoe polish bottle their father had knocked over. In the yard, there was a rose bush, straggly and struggling, that their mother had planted.

Home.

* * *

"Can we do Christmas at our house?" Pony asked Michelle. They were sitting on the back step, watching the end of a glorious sunset, while Danny played in the yard. Their flight back to Salt Lake City was leaving in the morning. "I'd like to be with Soda and Cinny but I don't think being here's a good idea. Not this year."

"Of course we can," Michelle said easily. "We can do whatever you like."

"And everyone will be able to afford the airfare," Pony observed.

"I'd say so," Michelle said quietly. She still couldn't quite believe it. Pony had explained it carefully and she'd seen Danny's bankbook and the various legal papers, but it was still sinking in.

"Did you finish your note yet?" Pony asked quietly.

"I will," she said. "I'm just not quite ready yet." _Dear Shelly, it has been my honor having you as my second little sister_, the letter began, and she had to fold it up and put it away. "Your brother was quite a guy."

"He was," Ponyboy agreed. "He took really good care of us. I can remember when I was in college, it occurred to me one day that I was just worried about passing my English Lit final or whether or not I had the guts to ask out some girl, and at the same age, Darry was practically raising a family of four. I know Soda helped a lot, but Darry was always in charge."

Pony, like Cinnamon, remembered Darry's sternness when it came to dating and studying and underage drinking and drugs. In the months after their parents died, Pony mistook Darry's demeanor for meanness, but over that first, hard year, he'd realized that was not the case. They were different as boys and they were different as men, but they'd come to a place where there was enormous respect and love between the two of them. Darry believed Pony's life – as well as Soda's and Cinnamon's – was small proof that he'd done well by his siblings. He was pleased with all of them.

And if Pony had any doubts, Darry had told him so. _I remember I used to holler at you that you didn't think and had no common sense. I was afraid you were too much of a dreamer to make your own way. But you dreamed your way into a job, a wife and a son and I can see how happy you are. That makes me happy. I'm proud of you, baby brother. _

Pony took the note out of his pocket and ran his fingers over his name, his name in Darry's handwriting.

"Shelly."

"Hmm?"

"I want us to have another baby. I want Danny to have -- " Pony held up the note. "To have this. To have the opportunity to have this."

Michelle snuggled up next to him. "I would love to be the mother of your next child, Ponyboy Curtis."

Pony hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. He slipped the note back into his pocket. Years later, when he died, his grandson would find it tucked into an ancient copy of _Gone with the Wind_ next to a note bearing the faded signature, "Your buddy, Johnny."


	16. Epilogue

_And now, the epilogue. Thanks for reading this. I hoped you liked reading about Cinnamon because I'm liking writing about her. In fact, she's been bothering me to give you her events of the book, so I may be working on that. Peace. -- Sox_

**Epilogue**

**One Year Later**

**To:** Cinnamon, Laura, Shelly

**From: **Ponyboy

**Subj: **Darry's column

**Date:** 10-17-06

Hey guys,

Here's the piece I wrote about Darry. Laura, can you print this out for your dad?

Love,

P.

* * *

**Nothing Gold Can Stay **

A year ago this month, I buried my father for the second time.

My actual father, Darrel Curtis Sr., died in a car wreck with my mother when I was 13. My oldest brother, Darrel Curtis Jr., became my guardian. He died last year, of chronic myeloid leukemia, at 41.

Darry was only 20 when our parents died. Instead of sticking me and our brother and sister in foster homes and high-tailing it back to college, Darry quit school, took on two hard, laboring jobs, and hollered at me almost daily to study hard and make something of myself. It wasn't easy, losing my parents at such an early age and suddenly having to look at my big brother, with whom I had not much in common, as an authority figure. It was a rough first year. There was a period of time when we fought almost constantly and I am ashamed to say I tried to get my brother Sodapop and my sister Cinnamon to take my side against him. My excuse is that I was young and self-centered, and I was certainly too self-centered to understand that Darry had been orphaned too and now faced the incredible and daunting task of making sure that Soda, Cinny and me made it adulthood.

But make it we did, and Darry is the reason. He's the reason Soda owns his own business, the reason Cinnamon is a wonderful nurse and the reason I was able to go to college and, eventually, land what has been a dream job. He is the reason I like to think I'm a decent father, because I learned from him when to fuss and when to sit back and wait to pick up the pieces. When he died, I hadn't lived with him in almost 15 years, but I will miss him every day for the rest of my life. He was an amazing example and I spent most of my life not knowing that.

In February, my wife will give birth to our second son, whom we will name after my fathers. I'm not sure if he can be Darrel III since I'm not a Darrel myself, but his birth certificate will say that all the same. I will try to teach my boys to love and respect each other and mostly to be there for each other and lean on each other. I will tell them that as long as they remember they are brothers first and men second, everything will turn out all right. I will tell Danny and Darry all about my fathers – both strong, handsome men, who loved long and well and left us all too soon. I will try to teach them to "stay gold" – a little Robert Frost-ism that reminds me that life is short, love is long and you're never too old to wrestle with your siblings. I will do all that as best I can, and I will do it in memory of Darry.

_-- Ponyboy M. Curtis_


End file.
